


Green Card

by bornforwar_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist
Summary: By Jo RisuTotally AU. They're human, they're normal. Spike is a British student at UCLA who gets into immigratory trouble when his mother dies. In order to remain in the states, he winds up marrying his best friend, Buffy. But it's not at all what they had expected.





	Green Card

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).

Chapter One

 

Spike stood, dumbfounded, in his doorway, one hand propped on the frame. He stared at the suited man before him, unconscious of his own bedraggled appearance. Hell, he'd just woken up. He was allowed to be shirtless and touseled. But nothing could prepare him for what this... suit... was saying.

 

"I'm sorry sir, but the bank is very clear in this matter. Your mortgage is past due, and you have no more credit with any reputable lenders. I've been sent to make you aware that this residence is being repossessed." 

 

_Bollocks._

 

"Like hell it is, mate! Mum's corpse isn't even cold in the bloody ground, and you vultures are trying to take the only thing I have left of her away?" 

 

"Again sir, we apologize for the inconvenient time, but it doesn't change the fact that if you do not vacate the premises within twenty-four hours, you will be trespassing. And, dealt with accordingly." 

 

Lindsay McDonald, legal representative of the First Bank of Sunnydale (and veteran of a thousand judicial wars), barely repressed a flinch at the murderous gaze of the blond man he was addressing. It struck a chord somewhere inside of him, but he had obligations to fulfil. He cleared his throat, preparing to restate his earlier assertions when the door slammed shut in his face. 

 

"Trespassing it is."

 

Somewhere between the third shot of whiskey and the fifth can of beer - which was only about fifteen minutes later - Spike thought to reach for the telephone. Blearily, he hit the speed dial button and prayed that the chit hadn't left for class yet.

 

"Hello?" 

 

On a better day, he would have been happier to hear her voice. Today, though, he was merely relieved. "Buffy? God - it's started already." 

 

"Spike? What happened?" _Besides your mom dying-_ she cursed to herself. _Thoughtless much?_

 

"The end of my bleedin' life..." He choked back a sob, trying to remember that tears weren't manly, especially not in front of his friends. "The bank. They're taking the house away. They want me out by tomorrow."

 

"Those bastards! What did they do?" 

 

"Sent some nancy, suited poof to evict me, that's what they sodding did. He-" The ranting was cut off by the doorbell ringing insistently. "Oh, for-" 

 

Spike stormed to the front, cordless phone still in hand. "I swear, I'll bleeding eviscerate them." He flung open the door, to see an unruffled Lindsay still standing there. "What?" he snarled.

 

Calmly, the lawyer held out a sealed envelope marked "INS". 

 

"I suppose this is a bad time to mention you're being deported." Turning, he straightened his tie and walked to his car. There was a small grin on his face. God, he loved being a lawyer.

 

"Spike? Spike? SPIKE?... DID HE SAY DEPORTED?" Buffy's voice sounded tinny and far away, as the phone clattered to the floor.

 

**********

 

 

"SPIKE?" 

 

Was it deja vu when it actually happened twice? Only this time, her voice was getting closer and not farther away. Spike had not budged from his spot on the living room floor where he had sunk to his knees an hour ago.

 

Buffy let herself into the Summers' home with the ease of long practice. "Spike?" She sounded like a broken record, even to herself. But she had no idea what else to say, what else to do. All of her instincts were screaming at her to find some way to fix the problem. Find someone and hit them, or make it all undo itself in some way... gods above, even her thoughts weren't making sense anymore. Spotting him, she dropped to his side.

 

"Hey, Dad's looking over the papers right now, he's good at this stuff. We'll figure out what to do, I swear, I'm not losing you now, love." 

 

A masculine throat cleared itself from the entry way. "William? Are you alright, son?" 

 

Somehow, Gile's rough voice penetrated the fog surrounding Spike's brain. 

 

"Huh?" 

 

"I said, are you all right, William?" 

 

A raspy chuckle was his response. "Yeah. Where did I put that flask..." Cold hands patted the carpet and felt under the couch cushions. Buffy quietly rose and went to the kitchen, getting a bottle from the cupboard and bringing it to the blonde. "Ta, pet." 

 

Rupert Giles exchanged a glance with his daughter. He removed his spectacles and polished them unneccesarily. This done, he attemted to address Spike one more time. "Um, I've been researching your, er, predicament. While there's nothing I can do about the mortgage-" Buffy winced at her father's tactlessness, and stroked Spike's unoccupied hand, "-I did a fair amount of looking into immigration laws. Did the lawyer present you with any sort of documentation?" 

 

Spike was momentarily torn. To hand the INS letter to Giles, he would have to relinquish either his grip on the JD bottle, or on Buffy. In the end, he chose to jerk his chin towards it, and hope they'd figure it out. The woman at his side reached across his lap and picked the envelope up off the floor, tearing it open with her teeth. She shook it out and handed it over wordlessly. 

 

"Ah, thank you. Well." Giles peered at the letter for a long moment. "It seems that your slot in the Green Card Lottery was declined... since you do not intend to leave the country after graduation, you are not eligible for a student visa... your mother's I-765 doesn't transfer anything to you, since you're over 21... you have no exceptional professional skills, so you can't get one of your own. Well." 

 

"Yeah, that's kind of what I had figured." 

 

This seemed like a good time for Giles to clean his glasses. Again.

 

Buffy put her arm around Spike's shoulders and lay her head against his neck. She still wasn't sure what to say, but she seemed to be performing the correct actions. Spike's rigid posture was softening, and he was leaning back against her for support. ... or it could have been the JD. 

 

"Ok, Spike. The floor isn't very comfortable, so how about we move you to the sofa?" She slipped her arm around his waist and shifted, so that she rose with her legs, dragging him up with her. He turned his face and nuzzled her hair while she half-carried him the few feet to the overstuffed couch. Getting him settled, she pried the bottle out of his hand.

 

"Oy! S'mine!" 

 

"Shut up, Spike. Lie down, be quiet, and try not to drool on yourself." 

 

He grumbled a bit, especially when she tucked an afghan around his legs, but gave in to her ministrations. Within seconds, the alcohol hit him even harder, and he fell asleep. Buffy smoothed his hair back from his face, and dropped a kiss on his temple.

 

"All right." She turned to her father, all business. "Go get your books. Look up stuff. It's what you do." 

 

"Actually, I think that would be more helpful in this instance." Giles pointed across the room to Joyce's personal computer. 

 

"Oh." Buffy strode over, and clicked the Explorer icon. She tagged Spike's username, and typed carefully. "B-L-O-O-D-Y-H-E-L-L..." The keyboard was presented to the researcher with a flourish. 

 

"And you will be...?" He peered at his daughter over wire rims.

 

She cracked her knuckles. "I need to find something to hit." 

 

"Alright, dear. Just try not to make it a person this time." By the time Buffy had made it to the door, her father was already seated at the desk. He grimaced distastefully. How he loathed the dread machine. 

 

********

 

 

Spike made his bleary way back to consciousness with the feeling that he had been clubbed repeatedly over the head with a raccoon. And that said raccoon had been stuffed in his mouth and left to die. "Mum?" he croaked out, distracted by the smell of English Breakfast tea. He had been dreaming, oddly enough, of an entire law firm that had sold their collective souls to the dark forces for a building that had nothing but fifth-floor, corner offices. Weird. His eyes started to slide back shut, when a female hand pressed against his forhead. His brow furrowed. It didn't smell like his mum. She always smelled like lilac and hot cocoa, even at three in the afternoon. This smelled like coconut shampoo. And... athletic tape? 

 

"Buffy?" He grabbed her wrist and focused on the taped knuckles. "Who'd you pummel this time, pet?" 

 

"Just the sandbag. No one at the gym'll spar with me anymore." She grinned at him. "Need anything?" 

 

Spike did that thing, where he opened and shut his lips, as if licking the back of his teeth. It was like he was trying to taste his tongue, and get rid of the taste, both at the same time. "Mint?" 

 

She handed him two ibuprofen and a tall glass of water. "Try this first, I'll see if I can rustle up some Altoids, or at least a toothbrush." 

 

"Thanks, pet." Swallowing the pills, he looked up to catch Giles adding a generous dose of JD to his teacup. He felt his jaw clench, but he felt completely empty. There was no rage left, no tears, no words. Just a weary acceptance that his life sucked, and that at least he had two wonderful people that he could count on.

 

"How's it comin', Rupes?"

 

"As for the bank... there's nothing to be done. But rest assured, you're always welcome in our home. You can stay with us for as long as you need to, William, heaven knows your room is always ready."

 

"Thanks... you know how much that means to me."

 

"Quite, William. You're like a son to me, you know that. I'll do my best by you, get you out of this connundrum."

 

"Then I'm in good hands." Spike looked up to see Buffy reenter the living room, mint box in hand. She tossed, and he caught it deftly.

 

"You're not as hung-over as you look, Slick." 

 

He just snorted, and popped three Altoids at once.

 

Giles cleared his throat. "Well, it seems that you have ninety days grace before there is a forcible deportation. In that time, you have to file the necessary paperwork and make sure that everything has been cleared, on all levels." 

 

Spike rolled a mint over his tongue. "That's a bit of a relief. Won't be asking for a ride to the airport tonight, anyhow." 

 

"There are a lot of complications, since your entry was on minor status, and your dependency expired with your mother's I-765, but... there's a way you could stay in the country, with permanent, naturalized citizenship." 

 

"Sod all! Seriously, mate? Tell!" 

 

"Er, that is... I mean, it's a bit of an-" 

 

"Dad, it's not that complicated. Spike, in the next three months, you have to get married." _____________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Two 

 

"Right, pet. I'm supposed to find some chit, court her, and get her to tie the knot. In ninety days. Bloody hell, even if I could pull it off, have you any idea what women are like when they hear the word 'wedding'? I'm talking, six, seven months of picking invitations, flower arrangements, bleeding flourescent-green bridesmaid dresses." Spike's face had grown paler than usual. 

 

"Well, it has to be the most logical - and well, only - course of action." Giles pointed out. 

 

"Oh, come on, buddy," Buffy cajoled. "It's not like you can't just twitch those sexy eyebrows at some random U.S. citizen, and bewitch her into a convenience marriage, just for the chance at shagging the Big Bad. Hell, just flip through the yearbook and point at a picture. A hundred dollars says her answer is yes." Buffy pulled the Sunnydale High Memory Book down off the shelf, and dropped it in his lap. The senior gallery page fell open, and his gaze fell on the picture of a beautiful redhead.

 

**********

 

 

"No!" Willow Rosenberg stared at her best friend as if she had sprouted an extra head and was making out with it. 

 

"Oh, come on, Wills! It's only for a few years! Think of the status coup you could score with the old crowd!" 

 

"Um, Buffy, I scored that coup when I showed up at homecoming with a leggy blonde on my arm. In case you blinked sometime since high school, I'm gay. I'm still gay. I will be gay for a long, long time. Besides... Spike?" 

 

"Please? He's going to be deported if I can't find someone to marry him. Besides, Tara would understand. She's a sweetie that way."

 

"Yeah, well, you haven't seen her as Mistress of Pain." Willow snickered at the old joke. "I'm sorry, it's not going to happen."

 

"Think of it as insurance! A strong, masculine presence to check out creepy noises at night?" Buffy was obviously grasping at straws.

 

"Buff, - I'm - the strong, masculine presence. Only, floral scented instead of that nasty, sweat sock smell." Willow grinned, and toyed with her ice water. "Anyway, Tara and I have been talking about some kind of a committment ceremony..." Her eyes sparkled, as they always did when she spoke of her girlfriend. 

 

"Pift! You've still got, what, three years exactly before the Vermont laws are recognized in California! That's the perfect amount of time to become Mrs. Willow Summers! You'll be divorced in time for Tara, I swear on my immortal soul..." Buffy was getting desparate.

 

Willow grimaced slightly and patted her friend's hair. "If it's that important to you, why don't YOU marry Spike?"

 

**********

 

 

"Right. My sexual power is such that I can make gay women straight. Tell me another one, pet." The Brit in question sprawled back on the couch, knocking the book to the floor. 

 

"Oh!" Buffy pointed at the cheerleading candid that the book fell open to. "She'd do it! She's always wanted your bod!"

 

**********

 

 

"Forget it!" exclaimed Cordelia Chase, up-and-coming starlet. She rolled her eyes and almost hung up her cell phone as she strode through yet another trendy Rodeo Drive boutique. 

 

"Don't you even remember how hot Spike is? He just needs to be married for, like, three years! Then you can divorce, or annul, or whatever is the vogue in Hollywood. It shouldn't even affect your career - Look at Jennifer Lopez!"

 

"My first marriage is reserved for Josh Harnett. Barring him, a bazillionaire software mogul. I will not be Mrs. Cordelia Summers, not even for three MONTHS! My agent would have a fit!" 

 

"But! But! You used to say you'd do anything for a chance at the Spike pie - you called him salty goodness!" 

 

"No, I called ANGEL salty goodness - and we all know how that turned out. Oh, in a six, that one." Cordelia turned to the salesgirl, and followed her into the dressing room. Buffy's next comment was obscured by the sound of rustling fabric and the arrangement of shopping bags.

 

"-Columbia." 

 

"Whatever, Buff. Don't you have other people you can bug? Oops! Hang on, Doyle's on call waiting. On second thought, don't hang on, my answer is now, and ever will be, NO. You marry him." 

 

"Cordy-" Buffy stared at the phone in her hand, as the dial tone shrieked at her mockingly. "Twice is coincidence," she muttered.

 

**********

 

 

Spike roared with laughter, and shook his head. "You thought you could get Queen C? What have you been drinking, luv, I could use a pint or three." 

 

Buffy took a deep breath. It was time to get out the big guns.

 

**********

 

 

"Many orgasms, you say?" 

 

"It's SPIKE, An. You know it's got to be good. And as your husband, he'd be legally required to supply them on demand." _Please, please, don't see through that bluff..._ Buffy crossed her fingers under the table. 

 

"Hm. It's an interesting proposition... but there's no economic advantage to the arrangement?" 

 

"We can't pay you for it, that makes it an illegal marriage. But if you file together, you can get better tax refunds, health insurance..." This was the weak section of the argument. It would be easier to convince Anya on the strength of Spike's sexual prowess. She hoped.

 

Anya looked thoughtful. She looked intrigued. Then her face fell. "I am sorry, Buffy. You and William have been good friends to me for the past few years. While I regret his imminent deportation, I fear that I am unable to agree to this arrangement."

 

"But-" 

 

"You see, Xander is currently employed at a high-paying job with excellent benefits and many opportunities for advancement, while Spike has no career. He has student loans that would take away my hard-earned money, and prevent me from acquiring the pretty things that I require in my life. And while I do admit that Spike would be an excellent choice for providing many enjoyable orgasms, I think that Xander does a better-than-average job of the same. I have no complaints, and quite a few compliments for him in this area. You see, it's not a difficult decision. But you don't have financial straits..."

 

Buffy dropped her head into her hands, dreading the next words that would fall from Anya's mouth. 

 

"...why don't you take advantage of Spike's orgasm capabilities?"

 

**********

 

 

"Faith?" she intoned desperately. 

 

"Not bleedin' likely. I... couldn't."

 

"What? You guys dated for a whole month freshman year... ok, ok. Um, how about Amy?" 

 

"Who?" Spike poured detergent into the washing machine, and spun the dial. 

 

"Amy Madison. She was one of Willow's friends until she... became a crack addict, oh, damn." She kicked a laundry basket in frustration. "Well, there's always Harmony. She still likes you..."

 

The washer lid slammed down with unneccessary force. "If you think for one instant that I will put up with that bint calling me her 'Blondie Bear' for three bloody years, you have got another think coming, pet." 

 

 _Another think coming? What does that even mean, anyway? Has he been listening to that old Bill Cosby record again?_ Buffy shook her head to clear the mental babble she could feel encroaching. "Fine! Aura, Sandy, Sheila, Teresa! Pick one!" 

 

"Sandy? Wasn't she that chit that Red scared the hell out of last Halloween in her black dominatrix getup, what with the random licking?"

 

"So you want Sandy? I think I have her number here somewhere..." Buffy started to rummage through the kitchen junk drawer next to the laundry room. 

 

"No! I don't want to marry her, I barely know who she is!"

 

"It's only three years! God's sake, you'd think that you don't even WANT to stay in the US! You just have to marry her, paper and pen, nothing else! Maybe split the rent! Light cooking! Not brain surgery, and certainly not the committment you seem to think it is!" 

 

Spike flinched as if he'd been struck. "Fine then," he snarled. "Who's next on your sodding list of fun?" 

 

Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, you've shot down all the names on my 'sodding list of fun' except the last." 

 

"Well?"

 

Buffy took another deep breath, and sank down on one knee. "William Summers, will you marry me?" 

 

Silence.

 

"Bloody hell!"

__________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Three

 

Buffy stared up at him, still kneeling. "Spike, I'm serious. Marry me." 

 

Spike started swearing, backing up as far as he could before he slammed into the dryer and knocked the detergent on the floor. Swearing intensified.

 

Buffy rose swiftly , and took two long steps over to him. "Come on, Spike. I'm the only one left. And I'll do it, I swear, Spike. You've got to marry me." 

 

He jerked a hand through his hair, unknowingly destroying a careful gel job. "Are you insane? And why do you keep saying my name like that?" 

 

"You. And. Me. Married. It's not that inconceivable. We practically live together. It's not a stretch. And besides," Buffy looked a little bit hurt, "why not me?" 

 

"Oh for -" Spike's eyes were almost wild. "Buffy... it's not you, it's just... are you insane?!"

 

The rest of his morning's hair grooming was ruined by the hand that caught him sharply across the back of the head. *SMACK* 

 

"Oy! What was that for?"

 

"For being an idiot about this whole thing. Spike, you are about to be put on a cargo plane with a one-way ticket to merry old England, unless you suck it up, swallow whatever macho bull that you're dealing with and agree. This is the best - No. This is the only solution." 

 

"It's not that, I don't -" Spike made a frustrated sound, and started to pace within the small confines of the laundry room. "Three years! What if we meet the people that we're supposed to be with, in that time? Say, 'oh, I'm in love with you, but let me check with my husband and see if we have dinner plans'? Love, It's not fair to you."

 

"Yeah, sure. Like I've had so much luck in that department." Buffy rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "We can make it an open marriage if you want," she offered.

 

Spike ground his jaw. "That's not the point." 

 

"Then what is the point, Spike, because I'm not getting it!"

 

Thoughts raced willy-nilly through his brain. He couldn't tell her the real reason. Not yet. _Hell, mate, not ever!_ "Because, because," Spike sputtered, "you're like my bloody sister! What with being friends for five years, all the girly talk and the slumber parties! Christ, you've painted my nails! I can't be your husband! I can't even be your sodding boyfriend!"

 

Hazel eyes narrowed. Sister, huh? Buffy drew herself up to her full height and stalked slowly towards the man leaning on her washing machine. 

 

Spike was suddenly very aware that the shirt Buffy was wearing had come unbuttoned one button too many.

 

She kept approaching, pausing only when she could feel his quickening breath across her skin. "I have _never_ been your sister." Buffy turned imperiously and swept from the room. 

 

Spike suddenly remembered that breathing was essential to consciousness. 

 

**********

 

 

"Dad, I just don't have any idea what else to do! He's impossible!" Buffy tugged on a lock of hair that had come loose from its habitual ponytail. "I don't know if I want to laugh, cry, or beat him until he agrees... actually, that sounds like a plan." She abruptly rose from her perch on Giles' desk, and headed for the door. 

 

Her father caught her by the arm. "Buffy, before we do anything, er, irreparable, you need to cool off and we need to think things through." 

 

"We've thought. We've researched. We've made phone calls and threatened things. The only way to keep my best friend in this country is for me to marry him. And he won't do it!" She threw up her hands in frustration.

 

"Have you exercised today?" Giles changed topic, seemingly at random. 

 

"Well, no. I had to get to classes early, and what with all the Spike-oriented headaches, I haven't made it to the gym. Stop trying to change the subject. Daddy, help me fix it, please?" She was almost in tears. 

 

Giles touselled her hair fondly. "I'm not changing the subject. Look, why don't you go for a long run, then take a hot shower. I'll see if I can't talk some sense into our young British friend in the meantime. Hopefully, he will be contrite and apologetic just in time for you to graciously accept, and go out to dinner with him to settle plans." 

 

Violently dashing away a hint of moisture that had gathered in her eyes, the young woman smiled uncertainly at her father. "If you say so..." She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "I'll be back in, oh, an hour or three." 

 

**********

 

 

Lines on the street flashed by, at Buffy's side. Obviously, not as quickly as they would have had she been in a car, but their rate of disappearance pleased her. She could feel the muscles of her thighs bunch and pull, the impact of her running shoes on the pavement, as she made a beeline for the least-travelled part of town. Obscure house techno blared in her headphones from the mix tape she had snatched off her dresser and crammed into her walkman, in an almost frantic haste to leave the house. She wanted to run faster and farther than ever before. The pounding beat helped. On an intellectual level, she knew that overextending herself would be a bad idea. But her frazzled emotions demanded their due. Exercise was good. Endorphins were better. Running equated escape, on a psychological level. Running was good. Running meant not having to deal with losing her second mother only five years after losing her first. 

 

Guilt and pain almost knocked her breathless. How could she compare the two? How could she not? Mom was wild, witty, and endlessly creative. She could do anything and everything with a computer, teasing Dad mercilessly over his stuffy, book-loving tendencies. Joyce was quietly artistic, manager of the Sunnydale branch of a large London art museum... but she always had time for her son, and for Buffy too. 

 

They were so different, yet had that same quality of... love. Compassion. Caring. Quiet, reassuring smiles. Infectious laughter and a fondness for cocoa. Graves in Hillcrest cemetery.

 

Buffy kept running, studiously lengthening her stride to maximize the flex in her calf muscles. Her jaw began to ache from clenching it. 

 

A home away from home. That's what the Summers' kitchen was. A haven for when her own house felt empty and sad. A place to go to with girl-talk questions, or just for a hug. Jennifer Calendar-Giles would always be her mother, but... Joyce could have been. 

 

Joyce almost was. 

 

**********

 

 

Giles inhaled deeply, pouring hot water into the teapot. He had started drinking tea instead of coffee several years back, when his then-new neighbor had started inviting him over in the afternoons. Single parents of same-aged teens, they had formed a bond over teatime and biscuits. 

 

"William?" He stuck his head into the converted guestroom. "Would you like some tea, son?" 

 

Spike snorted, looking up from the trunk he was still half-heartedly unpacking. "For an American bloke, you have been well-trained. Four-thirty on the nose, I see." 

 

"Your mother's influence, I suppose." A soft smile. "Did you want?" 

 

The younger man smiled in response. "Can't rightly refuse a good cuppa, now can I?" Both men settled down, Giles seating himself at the desk while Spike half-sprawled on his bed. "So, what's shakin', Rupes?" 

 

"Man to man? I'd like to know why you haven't asked me for my blessing yet." 

 

Tea suddenly errupted from Spike's nose. He coughed, trying to mask his sputtering. "Come again, mate?" 

 

"Buffy informed me that the two of you will be getting married. Quite soon, is what I was made to understand. So why haven't you asked for my blessing, like a gentleman?" 

 

"You've got it all wrong, Rupes. I can't marry her, I won't! I don't know what the chit said to you, but it's bloody wrong." 

 

"You mean that you won't be summarily deported in exactly 79 days unless you wed my daughter?" 

 

Trapped, Spike lost some of his bluster. "Well, that part's true enough..." The teacup was set on the dresser, and he began to fidget. "I just... this is such a hard decision to make, you know? If I want to stay here, with the people who mean more to me than family, I have to get married. But I can't just pick some bint I don't know, and I can't make myself wed a girl that I do know. I just couldn't trap her like that. Marriage isn't supposed to be about convenience." Spike's gaze turned to the window. "It's supposed to be about love." 

 

"In a perfect world, William, that's the way it would always be. But difficult circumstances require difficult decisions. If it helps, I don't think that marrying you would be any great hardship for my daughter." Giles grinned, eyes twinkling. "I certainly wouldn't mind you being family." His tone resumed its serious notes. "You're romantic enough that I know you'll treat her like a queen. But you have to be pragmatic, too. She's willing to do it. You shouldn't reject her offer out of some misguided notion of chivalry." 

 

Spike turned his head, meeting Giles' eyes full-on. "I shouldn't marry her. I don't love her as a wife." 

 

"But she loves you as a friend. For three years, it will be enough." 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Chapter Four

 

Showers were definitely of the good. Water, near to scalding, pounded Buffy's shoulders and back, much as her feet had pounded the pavement. Both had the same cathartic effect. She was feeling much more human. Coconut shampoo left a heady scent in the air, as she rinsed off for the last time. She felt grief, yes. Buffy felt like some part of her would always be grieving for the loss of both women. But she knew that she had things to accomplish that didn't involve spending the rest of her life shadowed in sorrow. 

 

Joyce would have wanted her son to stay in California, with the Giles'. Buffy intended to make it happen. 

 

**********

 

 

Spike intercepted Buffy while she was headed back to her room. A towel was draped precariously over her head, and she was giving her hair a brisk rub-down en route. 

 

"Um." 

 

She paused and looked at him, settling the towel around her neck. "Oh, hi Spike. Did you need something?" 

 

He shifted his weight back and forth. "I'm just... sorry about earlier, love. Can we maybe get some dinner, have a talk over drinks?" 

 

Buffy smiled widely. _Dad is a genius. I wonder how he pulled this one off!_ "Sure thing. Just let me get dressed. I'm kind of naked right now." 

 

An exaggerated eye roll met her statement. "Just be quick about it, eh?" 

 

Buffy grinned again, and ducked into her room. Dropping both towel and robe, she rummaged in her drawer for some clean underwear. She was understandably startled when she heard the door open behind her. 

 

"Hey!" She whirled indignantly, clutching a t-shirt in front of her. Her cheeks heated up when she caught the expression on Spike's face. There was no embarassment or contrition in his eyes. He was hungry, and he looked as if he would devour her whole. 

 

Three long strides carried him across the room, and the shirt fell nervelessly from Buffy's fingers as he crushed her body against his. She had no awareness of anything beyond his penetrating gaze and the feel of his arms around her. 

 

"Spike." The words ghosted over her lips as if they were a prayer, and suddenly, his mouth was on hers. Tasting, owning, claiming - he demanded that she surrender her entire being to him and him alone. Buffy could not help but acquiesce to him, the torrent of sensation and emotion leaving her breathless and weak. She did not even resist when he lowered her to the bed and began laving kisses against her throat. She arched under him, as he nibbled his way down her collar bone. 

 

"So good, pet..." he moaned against her smooth skin. 

 

Buffy fought hard to supress the snicker that threatened to escape. After a long moment of facial contortions, she burst out in peals of laughter. Oh, no. Oh, hell no. She couldn't. _I don't care WHAT Anya said - there's no way that I can take advantage of Spike's 'orgasm capabilities'... he's SPIKE!_

 

There was a knock at her door, rousing her from her hilarity. "Buffy? Are you alright in there, love?" The sound of Spike's voice sent her off on another round of giggles. 

 

"I'm fine!" she managed to choke out after a little bit. "I'll just be a mo'." Buffy rolled off the bed, and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a halter. Still blushing from her ludicrous dream sequence, she twisted the doorknob to reveal Spike's form, waiting not _too_ impatiently in the hallway. 

 

"Did you have a location preference, ducks? I was thinking of going to Buca's." 

 

"Oh, sounds great! I haven't been there in ages. God, I miss their canneloni." _Not to mention the incredible drink prices..._

 

Spike offered his arm. "Then are we ready?" 

 

Flashing a patented grin at her best friend, she linked elbows with him. "Let's go terrorize the natives." 

 

**********

 

 

Ten minutes later, the blonde duo were seated at their usual booth in Buca di Beppo, the best kept secret in Italian cuisine. As was their wont, they made the obligatory exclamations over the ridiculous photographs that covered every inch of the plaster walls. 

 

"Oh, look! Isn't that a new poster?" Buffy pointed over to the far corner, where a billboard proudly proclaimed "Italians do it with White Sauce". 

 

Spike snickered. "I certainly would've remembered that." 

 

Playfully, she smacked his arm. "You aren't Italian." 

 

"No. But I should've been." His smirk was positively evil. Buffy's attempt at a rejoinder was preempted by the arrival of their waitress. 

 

"Hi! I'm Nina, I'll be your server this evening. In case you've never been here before, Buca di Beppo is a family-style restaurant, which means that all portions are designed to feed two to four people - " 

 

Spike waved his hand, cutting her off. "We're regulars, ducks. Just bring out a wheel of garlic bread - with mozzarella, mind you, and whatever the wine special is." He glanced at Buffy. "You might want to just leave the bottle." 

 

Nina gaped. "Um, are you sure about that?" She looked over at the bottles lining the bar. Each was designed for a dinner party of twelve or more, since each held three to five liters of alcohol. 

 

Spike considered. "Well, it'll save you a few dozen trips. Yeah, I'm sure." 

 

When they were settled with their appetizers and beverages, Spike and Buffy spent a long moment arranging their plates, nibbing at salad, and generally avoiding each other's gaze. Buffy finally broke the impasse. 

 

"Well, there are drinks to talk over," she gestured at the huge, bulbous decanter that graced their little table. "So, talk, bleach-boy." 

 

Spike looked down, noticing that his hands were shredding a slice of bread of their own volition. He watched them reduce it to crumbs, then reach for his glass. The wine disappeared just as quickly. He was enjoying this freedom, just letting his limbs act as they saw fit, when suddenly his shins announced to his pain center that he had just been kicked. 

 

"What was that for?" 

 

"I said, 'talk' Spike. That does not mean 'shred your garlic toast' or 'have some more wine'. It means TALK." 

 

"Just give me a sec, alright, pet?" Spike was having trouble meeting her intense gaze. Since when was he so uncertain with her? 

 

"God, I hope that our marriage isn't this awkward." Buffy's words finally elicited a response. 

 

"You still want to?" Spike didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed.

 

"For the hundredth time, yes. If it would keep you here with me, I'd marry _Parker_." Buffy grinned at him, but her eyes denied the teasing tone of her words. She was serious.

 

Spike managed a smile. "Oy, knock on wood. You shouldn't tempt the fates like that." He paused. "But you mean it, don't you, ducks?"

 

"Mean what? That I want to marry you, or that I'd marry that jackass?" 

 

He looked down briefly, and began to nudge his wineglass around in its spot. "That you'd marry me." 

 

Spike sounded so quiet, and so distraught, that Buffy couldn't help but reach over, covering his hand with her own. "Why is that so hard to believe, honey? I mean, I'll handle it however you want. If you just want it to be on paper, and still date around, that's fine. If you want to settle down and play house for three years, I can be the little wife." 

 

Her companion snorted. 

 

"Hey! I'm serious! I don't want to inconvenience you, and I don't want to be a nag. But Spike, if we don't do this, I'm going to lose you. You've been my best friend for five years. Five Years. I'm not willing to give that up because some prick in the INS decided England couldn't contribute to the U.S.'s diversity this year."

 

Spike smiled, and dropped a quick kiss on her knuckles. "I know, I know. And I'm not wanting to lose you either, Buffy. It's just- " 

 

Whatever Spike had been about to say was lost, since Nina reappeared. "Hey, have you guys decided on a main course yet?" 

 

The two blondes exchanges a glance. They hadn't even been looking at the menu board. Buffy shrugged.

 

"Bring on the canneloni."

**********

 

 

An hour and a half later, the giant bottle was looking frighteningly empty. A huge ceramic platter was pushed to one side of the booth, nothing left on it but smears of marinara. Buffy and Spike were totally plastered. 

 

"It's just, I don't want to be married. You know how it was with my parents - wait, you don't know, that was before I came to Sunnydale... why is the room spinning?" Spike leaned his head gently against the back of the booth. 

 

"Din't -hic- didn't your dad leave you and Joyce right before the move?"

 

"Dead on. 's the reason she took the job here. Hated him." Spike's expression twisted into a snarl. "Hated his stupid secretary more. Skanky, lopsided little bint. Da couldn't keep it zipped, took the stupid whore with him and moved to Spain." Another glass emptied, and he struggled with the weight of the bottle. Buffy helped him lift it to refill. "Spain. Who bloody goes to _Spain_ of all sodding places. Please." His face crumpled, his voice almost a sob. "He didn't love her enough to stay with her. And now she's gone." 

 

Buffy tried to lunge across to hold him, but there was a table in her way. She looked at it, blinking, trying to get her alcohol-sodden mind to process a solution. Brightening, she slithered under the table and climbed up on Spike's side clumsily. She banged against his bruised shins again, but he didn't seem to mind. 

 

All Spike knew was that he suddenly had an armful of garlic-y Buffy. He sniffled, burying his face in her hair and started to cry. "She's gone." 

 

"Shh... it's ok, sweetie. I miss her, too..." Buffy started to pet his head, rocking a little bit back and forth, before she realized that the motion was making her queasy. She stopped. "Do you want some more? I think there's a little bit left in the bottom..." 

 

Spike nodded pathetically, and she shared the last cup of wine with him. Both were drunk, tear-streaked, and exhausted. "Can we go home now, Buffy?" His voice sounded small. 

 

She nodded. "Let's go home." 

 

**********

 

 

The phone rang again at the Giles' residence. Rupert snatched it from its cradle. "Hello?"

 

"Daddy?" Buffy hiccoughed, and then sneezed. 

 

"Buffy? Are you alright?" Giles sounded concerned. 

 

The subtler nuances of tone were flying over Buffy's head, though, so she answered cheerfully. "I'm fine, daddy... but Spike's too drunk to drive, and I think I broke his keys. Can you come get us?"

 

Giles repressed a snort. "Where are you, honey?"

 

"Um..." 

 

"Think hard. Where did you eat?" 

 

"Oh! We had canneloni! And a big bottle of wine. But Spike just threw up in his backseat... ew. Spike! That's gross!"

 

Her father put two and two together and came up with Buca's. "I'll be there in a few minutes, Buffy. Don't go anywhere." 

 

"Ok daddy! Bye bye!" Buffy giggled, and then frowned. The off button wouldn't push. Oh well. She tossed the phone into the front seat, and shook Spike. 

 

The man in question made an expression of woeful distaste. He was kneeling on the pavement, holding himself up against the open door of the DeSoto's backseat. "I barfed." 

 

Buffy leaned against the side of the car. "I know." She patted his head. "I did, too." 

 

"Okay then." Spike shifted, pulling her down to the ground next to him. "You still smell good." He pillowed his head on her shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. 

 

That was how Giles found the two of them. Curled up together in the parking lot of a closed Italian restaurant. As he walked over to them, he thought to himself. _It's a miracle that no one stole the car._ When he reached their actual side, he caught scent of something garlic-laced and acidic.

 

_Oh._

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Chapter Five **  
**

**_September, 1998_ ** **Buffy's smile just wouldn't quit. It was the first day of her senior year. Senior year! She was finally on the last step to getting out of this evil, demonic trap that they called a high school... Well, the demonic part was figurative, but the evil sure wasn't. Principal Snyder was rounding the corner.  
**

 

 

******"Ms. Giles. Just who I was expecting to see. Late on the first day, are we?" The diminutive man sneered at his pet project.  
**

 

******"Why, hello, Principal Snyder. I hope you had a lovely break. Actually, I believe that I'm a few minutes early. But I'm sure you'll find plenty of excuses to yell at me this year, after all, it's your last chance to try to expell me." With a smirk, she breezed past the little man. _I can't believe I ever let that little troll intimidate me. Oh, good one, Buffster!_ Her smile widened even further when she caught sight of her best friends, Xander and Willow.   
**

 

******"Oh! Wills! That is the cutest shirt! When did you get it? I thought you were going to wear the green today?"  
**

 

******The redheaded girl glanced down and tugged on the hem of her fitted yellow shirt. "I thought it would be nicer. More sunshiny. Since it's Sunnydale. And I'm a big dork, aren't I?"  
**

 

******"Hey, no bigger than I am. You'll always have that going for you." Xander slung a companionable arm around Willow's shoulders. "Plus, bonus for avoiding the thrift shop Hawaiian prints."  
**

 

******"Hey, there's nothing wrong with bargain hunting... although, you really do look like a luau on ecstasy," Buffy conceded.  
**

 

******"Didn't you hear? It's 'drug addict chic'. All the rage in Milan." Xander struck a supermodel pose and all three cracked up. The sudden ringing of the homeroom bell startled them into the classroom.  
**

 

******Good friends, priority parking, exclusive parties, off-campus lunch privileges... Senior year was going to rock.  
**

 

**********

 

******Senior year was going to suck. Buffy's good mood had gone the way of the dinosaurs with the arrival of a new student. Damn him, and his black-on-black, eighties-reject sense of style. She wanted to make Billy Idol cracks, but they would be too obvious. If only he would STOP GETTING ASSIGNED NEXT TO HER IN CLASSES! _I mean, it's not even like it's alphabetical. Giles, Summers. No matchy-ness here. Why do they keep pairing us up? Maybe it's one of Principal Nazi's lame attempts to get me to drop out... it would be like him to pick a greasy little... ugh._   
**

 

******She couldn't help but shudder.  
**

 

******"Cold, pet?" came a smooth drawl from her left side. The new guy, Spike - _What kind of a name is 'Spike'? Score one for the girl named 'Buffy'_ \- was leaning casually against the station in the chem lab. Since it was the first day, they weren't really expected to do anything with the equipment, but they were assigned lab partners anyway. Buffy scowled.   
**

 

******"Just contemplating my extreme misfortune. And don't call me pet."  
**

 

******"All right then, ducks." He smirked.  
**

 

******_How dare he smirk? God, he's infuriating._ Buffy was so busy fuming that she missed whatever he was saying. "What?"  
**

 

******"I asked," he reiterated, with extreme condescension, "what misfortune was that? Did you accidentally wear the same blouse as someone else? Forget to put on vanilla perfume, like the rest of the lemmings?"  
**

 

******Buffy just gaped. What the hell was he saying? Why was he saying it? That was it. "Were you dropped on your head as a child, or did you leave your manners in the mother country? Look, you pea-brained pipsqueak, I have done absolutely nothing to you. Where exactly do you get off insulting me? And stalking me? And I do NOT wear vanilla perfume. Ew." _...And there's that damn smirk again..._  
**

 

******"The mother country? Oy, that hurt, love. Wounded me deep." Spike patted his hand over his heart. "And it's not like it's a challenge to insult you. Prob'ly another one of those flaky cheerleader types, with the pom-poms and sharp spelling skills." His smirk was positively evil. "I was just commenting."  
**

 

******Buffy just stared. "The cheerleaders don't even like me. And I may not be an A-student, but you're a jackass." She thanked her lucky stars when the bell rang, providing her with a perfectly timed excuse to flounce away. _Jerk!_   
**

 

**********

 

******"Can you believe the nerve of that guy? It's not like he even knows me." Buffy paused in her rant to take another bite of the day's cafeteria mystery special.  
**

 

******"And you are so right. The cheerleaders all hate you." Cordelia Chase smiled sweetly over at her, snagging a cookie from her boyfriend Xander's plate.  
**

 

******Buffy gave a patently false smile in return. "Why, thank you, Cordy."  
**

 

******"Anytime, Buffy."  
**

 

******"Ladies, ladies. As much as I enjoy a good catfight, there's still food to be eaten, hm?" Xander looked around the table, easy-going grin in place.  
**

 

******"Hmph."  
**

 

******He was obliged to pacify his girlfriend with a kiss. "Better?"  
**

 

******Cordelia smiled radiantly. "Much."  
**

 

******Buffy coughed loudly. "Back to my pain, everyone?"  
**

 

******Willow looked up with a guilty expression, having been distracted by her own significant other. Oz just looked... like Oz. Stoic and expressionless.  
**

 

******"God, guys, I'm sorry. I must sound like such a flake. But there's just something about this guy that just makes me want to... aaaarg!"  
**

 

******A tray clattered down at her elbow, and there was suddenly a leather-clad platinum blonde seated next to her. "And which guy would that be, ducks?"  
**

 

******Buffy was again caught with the incredulous staring. _Oh, no, he did not!_  
**

 

******"Um, hi. I'm Xander, this is Cordelia, Willow, and Oz. I'm assuming you've met Buffy." The young man was not unaware of Buffy's raging distaste for the blonde guy, but his friendly streak urged him to make introductions.  
**

 

******"Buffy? Is that really your name? I just thought the teacher was confused." Spike actually had the audacity to snort.  
**

 

******Buffy's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "My mother gave me that name."  
**

 

******"Your mother, yeah, she's a genius, isn't she?" He looked around the table, quirking a brow at the expressions of shock on all their little faces. _Bleeding pathetic automatons._  
**

 

******The irritation and annoyance that she had been feeling all day started to bubble up inside of Buffy's stomach. When he said that last comment... she could hear roaring in her ears. Without conscious thought, she flashed to her feet and backhanded Spike to the floor. "Don't you EVER talk about her! Ever!"  
**

 

******Spike stared up in total surprise at the spitfire that was now towering over him. Her face was red and her expression furious. His hand touched the rising welt on his cheekbone and his brow furrowed. "Oy! You shouldn't go hitting people like that." He regained his feet with startling speed and grace. He leaned in, to loom menacingly over Buffy. "Little girl like you, could get hurt messing with the wrong person."  
**

 

******"You _are_ a jackass." Buffy planted her hands firmly on his shoulders and pushed him back. Before he could recover, she launched a blinding punch combination at him.   
**

 

******Spike's head snapped backwards under the blows and he snarled. Grabbing her outstretched arm, he wrenched it behind her back. "Mind what I said-"  
**

 

******His advice was cut off by a vicious head-butt and an elbow to his stomach.  
**

 

******"Ow!" Spike clutched his forehead in pain, releasing her. Buffy then slammed her knee into his nose when he doubled over in pain.  
**

 

******_Oh, sod chivalry. The chit started it._ Dashing the blood from his now-broken nose, he landed a right hook on her jaw. The growing crowd gasped.   
**

 

******Buffy rocked backwards, assuming a martial arts position. She bounced lightly on her toes, demeanor professional, but her eyes blazed. This was very, very personal.  
**

 

******Spike managed to block her roundhouse kick and dodged a few jabs. He recognized her form and now knew how to defend himself against her. His confidence level grew, and the two of them traded blows and blocks at a furious speed. Spike's cocky grin was firmly in place. He could handle this.  
**

 

******Buffy catalogued his reactions and attacks with the ease of long practice. He could deal with ju jitsu? _Then how about this-_   
**

 

******Spike was caught off guard by the flying tackle. The girl shouldn't have been able to knock him over, but... he was suddenly flat on his ass, the tiny blonde straddling his chest. She had him by the throat, and had her other fist raised threateningly.  
**

 

******That was when Commandant Snyder decided to break up the fight.  
**

 

******"That's enough!" bellowed the gnomish principal. "Ms. Giles. I should have known it was you. Both of you, in my office, now."  
**

 

******When Buffy hesitated, the man grabbed her hair and tugged. "I said, NOW, missy!"  
**

 

******Eyes wide with indignation, Buffy released Spike and got back on her feet. Her enemy rubbed his throat, and picked himself up as well. Shooting death glares at each other, they stalked towards the office.  
**

 

******"Gee. I bet he feels real manly now," Xander quipped, popping a chip in his mouth.  
**

 

******"Oh, like you could take down the Buffinator," Willow protested.  
**

 

******"No, I couldn't. But you see? My manly pride is still intact. I've never been dumb enough to try." Xander shared a grin with Oz. Cordelia just rolled her eyes.  
**

 

**********

 

******"Well. I hope you're pleased with yourself." Mr. Rupert Giles, librarian, pushed his glasses firmly onto the bridge of his nose.  
**

 

******Buffy's expression was a mixture of shame and defiance. "He deserved it."  
**

 

******Giles slammed a heavy book down on the checkout counter and glared at his daughter. "Buffy Anne Giles! That is not the point! You are here for detention - detention! - on the first day back to school! I am sorely disappointed in you, young lady."  
**

 

******Spike, also seated at the long detention table, started to snicker.  
**

 

******"And you!" Giles rounded on the miscreant. "I have no idea what you did to provoke my daughter, but rest assured that I do not care. Both of you, just sit still and be quiet. I'll be cataloguing in my office right there-" he pointed, "-so don't let me hear so much as a peep from either of you for the next two hours."  
**

 

******With that, the irate librarian strode over to his office and slammed the door.  
**

 

******"Yikes," Buffy murmured.  
**

 

******"I'll second that... is he really your father?" Spike commented, in a conversational tone.  
**

 

******Buffy nodded. "And he's maaad..."  
**

 

******A snort came from his section of the table. "Are you sure he's not a closet Brit? Because with the tweed and the stuffiness, he could almost pass for my old history prof back in London." Spike watched her carefully. Talking about her mum had gotten him pummelled. Hopefully, she wouldn't be so touchy about her da.  
**

 

******To his relief, Buffy giggled. "Oh, don't I know it. I mean, not about your teacher. But yeah, Dad could give Masterpiece Theater lessons in stuffiness." She smiled. At him.   
**

 

******Spike was confused.  
**

 

******"Um... not to provoke you, and not that I'm complaining, mind, but... you seem a lot less hostile, pet."  
**

 

******Buffy pushed the hair out of her eyes, then examined the bruises and scrapes on her knuckles. "Well, you started the civil portion of the conversation. If you'd stop being so annoying, I might not have to hit you anymore." She looked down, as the attempted humor in her last statement fell flat. Buffy felt her guts twist. _I miss you so much, Mom._  
**

 

******Spike's smile faltered. He leaned forward, concerned about this girl for reasons he couldn't explain. There was something more going on here than just beating off an irritation. "Pet? About lunch... I really didn't mean to upset you like that. I was just trying to keep up, you know? Been watching too much sodding telly." His explanation seemed awkward, even to himself. "Oh, bugger. Look, pet, you've been flaying me all day. I just wanted to even the score. On American telly, they always insult each other's mothers. That's all I was trying to do - even if I can't really say 'yo mama'?" Spike's accent on the last two words was a horrific approximation of Will Smith.  
**

 

******Buffy almost cracked a grin. Instead, she met his eyes.  
**

 

******The platinum blonde looked so contrite, and so genuinely repentant that she relented.  
**

 

******"It's not what you said," she replied softly. "At least, not really." Buffy chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then took a deep breath. "My mother was killed in a hit-and-run five months ago."  
**

 

******Spike's eyes widened in shock. He almost forgot to breathe. _Oh, you're in it deep this time. Stupid, sodding wanker, had to be a smart ass and rule the school..._ "I am so sorry. I'm sorry, and I'm an idiot, and I should have kept my big mouth shut, and-" he began stammering, not having the verbal ability to express how completely and utterly horrified he was.   
**

 

******"Spike-"  
**

 

******"-I can't even begin to imagine what that would be like, and I am so, so sorry, I should've known better, I should've asked, I don't even know-"  
**

 

******"SPIKE! Cut it out! You're babbling. You're sorry. I get it. You didn't know, you couldn't've known." Buffy's hands curled into fists, and she tucked her legs up in the chair. "It's okay."  
**

 

******He looked positively hangdog. "You sure, pet?"  
**

 

******This time, Buffy did smile. She nodded, too. "Yeah." Her grin widened as she shook off her melancholy. "I can't rightfully hate the first guy I've met in an age that can properly counter my highkick-punch-roundhouse combo."  
**

 

******His expression brightened minutely. She wasn't going to kill him? "Oy, but that head-butt was brilliant, not to mention that last tackle."  
**

 

******"I was a little surprised it worked. I mean, you've got great form, but I would've expected you to know more street-fighting technique." Buffy quirked a brow at him.  
**

 

******Spike quirked one right back. Buffy noticed, for the first time, that it had a neat scar through it.  
**

 

******"Well, I was concentrating on not getting my brawling ass kicked by your ju jitsu." Heavy boots came to rest atop the table, and Spike lounged backwards in the uncomfortable wooden chair.  
**

 

******"You seemed to be doing pretty well. How long have you studied?" Buffy propped her elbows on her knees.  
**

 

******"Coupla years. Since I was eight, really. Was a bit of a runt in my younger days, helped me to avoid getting pummelled." Spike tossed out the information diffidently, as if it didn't matter that he was confessing to a weakness.  
**

 

******Buffy was surprised. _Maybe there's more to this guy than peroxide and leather. Hmm._ "That long? What's your specialty?"   
**

 

******Spike shrugged one lean shoulder. "I mix it up. Started with karate, like most kids. Added kung-fu later, some ju jitsu and judo when I started secondary. Mostly just took what I could, when I could." He started to smirk. "That, and I picked a lot of fights."  
**

 

******"Ah." Somehow, the smirk wasn't quite so annoying.**   
  
Chapter Six 

 

There was a dead animal under his tongue. Of this, Spike was completely certain. How else could one explain the dryness, the fuzzy internal texture and above all, the rancid taste? He squinted his eyes against the sunlight that was pouring all-too-cheerfully into the room. The blonde paused, trying to get his brain to function. Which room was he in? 

 

 _Ok, mate. It's not that hard._ His hands patted the surrounding area. _Feels like... couch. Cushions, rough fabric. Abrupt drop!_ Spike had to suddenly jerk to prevent himself from falling off the edge. This caused the mild ache behind his eyes to flare up violently. Eyes still clenched shut, he waited desperately for the spinning sensation to go away. He was hungover and felt like week-old garbage. This was happening all too often. 

 

Upstairs in her room, Buffy was undergoing similar sensations. She felt like one long ache. Her temples throbbed, her throat was dry, and her bed would not stop moving long enough for her to get up. Maybe if she just went back to sleep, it would all go away. 

 

**********

 

 

An hour or so later, Spike thought that he might be able to sit up without vomiting on himself. _Time to test that theory... and... success!_ He was up and, besides the headache and mild queasiness, he felt a lot less like a corpse. 

 

 _Step two, go get drugs._ Unsteadily, Spike made it to the kitchen. A glass of water reminded him of the small, dead animal in his mouth. So, after his ibuprofen was down the hatch, he faced his most daunting task yet: the stairs. 

 

One step at a time, Spike slowly shuffled to the second floor bathroom. By now, that innocuous toothbrush seemed to glow like the Holy Grail. He reached forward, grasping the plastic handle and lifting it with near-reverence. A slow grin split his features, and he reached for the toothpaste. "Heh." Spike began humming the theme from Indiana Jones as he scrubbed ruthlessly at his teeth. 

 

Simultaneously, Buffy was having a similar problem with oral freshness. However, her toothpaste was missing. And the mouthwash in her bathroom was blue. She hated blue mouthwash. She only ever used the green kind. This was not of the good. 

 

She pondered her dilemma. How to get rid of the scuzzy layer of grossness on her teeth, without toothpaste? _Maybe there's some in the other bathroom... oh! Didn't Spike borrow my Scope yesterday?_ Decision made, Buffy strode purposefully down the hall. Well, if you could call wobbling, while leaning against the wall, 'striding'. 

 

Spike had left the bathroom door open. His eyes were shut again, revelling in the minty flavor that was in his mouth while he gargled. _It's ridiculous how happy this is making me. 'm such a wanker._ Leaning forward to spit, he felt a presence behind him. 

 

"So that's where my toothpaste went." Buffy reached around him to snag the tube off the sink. 

 

"I didn't take your bloody toothpaste. That one's mine."

 

She didn't answer, just squeezed a generous amount onto her brush. _Oh, nice mintyness..._ Buffy sighed around the bristles. 

 

While she was occupied, Spike rinsed out the sink, dried his face with a towel, and filled the bathroom cup with water. After Buffy spat, he handed her the cup and uncapped the mouthwash. It was strange, but domestic. It suddenly made him nervous. 

 

"Well then. I guess I'll just- " he motioned to the door, stepping through it in the next moment. 

 

She swished and spit. "What?" 

 

If he gave an answer, she didn't hear it, since he was already headed back to his room. 

 

A glance over her shoulder revealed that Spike was gone. "Hey!" Turning, Buffy moved as quickly as she could without collapsing, chasing her soon-to-be-fiance down the hall. _At least, I think that's what he is._

 

"Spike!"

 

He looked up, having seated himself on his bed. "You say my name an awful lot, did you know that, pet?" 

 

"Is that a complaint? I seem to recall that your favorite pick-up line used to be 'remember my name, you'll be screaming it later'." Buffy grinned, sprawling next to him. 

 

Spike snickered. "You're right about that one. It never worked too well, though."

 

"Really? I thought chicks dug the accent. Even if you hadn't been all mysterious in black leather, that alone would have made you extremely shaggable." Buffy delighted in her use of a Spike-ism. 

 

Spike's grin faltered. "Uh, right." Suddenly, he found that the wallpaper had a fascinating grain to it. Riveting, really. _Shaggable. Sure. Why was she saying this?_

 

"What did I say? Spike?" 

 

"Uh, nothing, pet. Just, you know, thinking." 

 

Buffy smacked his leg, sitting up a bit. "About what? If you keep frowning like that, you're going to wrinkle prematurely." 

 

"About how crazy my life is turning out to be. Everything is all turned inside out and upside down. I don't even know what I want anymore," Spike slowly articulated his confusion, not sure where he was going with this.

 

His best friend sat up further and linked her arm through his. Propping her chin on his shoulder, Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Well... I don't know what to do about it. I wish I could make it better. 'cause that's me, you know? I'm fix-it girl. Got a bully problem? Need some homework connections? Locked out of the dorms again? Call Buffy. She's got the solutions and the easy answers." She turned her head, so that she was leaning her cheek against him. "I don't know anymore, Spike. I just know that I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to be deported, or sent to prison, or whatever other horrible things could happen." 

 

"You think I want that? I don't. Ever. Sunnydale's my home, more than London ever was," Spike laced his fingers through hers. 

 

Buffy's voice had more than a touch of bitterness to it. "You could've fooled me." 

 

There was a long silence. 

 

Spike's sneeze took them both by surprise.

 

He cracked a grin. "Sorry 'bout that..."

 

"About the sneeze? Or about making me wonder if I was being selfish for wanting you to stay in California?"

 

Another silence, though not quite so long. 

 

"I wish there was a way that didn't involve such extreme measures. I wish I didn't have to trap you into marrying me," Spike explained quietly. 

 

"Trap? As I recall, I was the one who proposed to you," Buffy replied.

 

"Because you felt you had to. It's not supposed to be like that. You're supposed to be in love with the person you marry. You're supposed to stay in love with them." Spike turned to face her. "It shouldn't have to be about legalism and squeaking around the INS. I just wish that you didn't have to marry me, that you could be with someone that you felt that... spark... for."

 

"I do love you though, Spike. Well, not in a 'take me now, you big hunk of man, you' kind of way, but it's still love." Buffy gave his hand a little squeeze. 

 

Spike laughed. "I know that, pet. And I love you too, albeit not in a 'riding at a gallop, till you pop like champagne' kind of way." He smirked. 

 

"Ew, where did you get that expression?" Buffy grimaced. 

 

A shrug. "One of the things Faith used to say. Just remembered it suddenly." 

 

"Blech. But as I was saying, I think we can make it work. It'll be better than like, Russian mail-order brides. At least we know each other. This marriage would be based on friendship. That's a whole lot better than some relationships I could name." 

 

Despite his outward calm, it was evident that something was still bothering Spike. "Yeah, I suppose."

 

"Then what's left? It's only for three years. It's not like we wouldn't be friends for that long anyway." She bounced a little on the bed, and pouted a bit.

 

Spike's eyes softened and he tilted his head slowly. "Ducks, I _am_ your friend. And I held you in these arms while you cried your pretty, hazel eyes out over the farmboy, and that poofter, Angel." One hand lifted slowly, then gently stroked her cheek. "Who's going to hold you if I make you cry?"

 

Buffy's mouth opened, then snapped shut. She swallowed hard. 

 

Spike's thumb brushed over her lower lip. "I'm not a nice man, Buffy. But I don't ever want to hurt you." His motion stilled, then his arm dropped back to his side. "I..." He struggled to find the words. 

 

A small hand covered his again, and Buffy answered the arguments that he hadn't even finished forming. "There aren't any guarantees that we won't get into a rip-roaring fight tomorrow, and that you'll finally get the lucky punch that sends me into a coma. Nobody promises that I won't piss you off. I know you take commitment seriously, Spike, but be realistic. I love that you feel that way. I know how much our friendship means to you. It means just as much to me. Can we not ruin it? Can we do this, and make it work? Can we fool the government, our friends, those lawyers?" Buffy's eyes asked more questions than just these. 

 

"Yes," Spike murmured. 

 

"Yes, what?" Buffy retorted emphatically. 

 

"Yes, Buffy. I'll marry you." 

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Seven

 

**_March, 1999..._   
**

 

 

******Spike's jaw dropped as he opened his bedroom door. "Buffy?" He caught a glimpse of tear-streaks and general dishevelment before he found himself with an armful of sobbing teenage girl. "Shh, pet, it'll be alright..." he offered, stroking her hair. He was at a loss for an explanation. As far as Spike knew, things were peachy in the Buffy-verse.  
**

 

******He gently guided her over to the bed, sitting down and pulling her into a more secure embrace. One hand continued to move through her tresses, giving what comfort he could. Whatever it was, it had to be serious to be affecting her so. He hadn't seen her this upset since... never.  
**

 

******Seemingly hours later, Buffy finally looked up with red, swollen eyes. Biting her lower lip, she pulled slightly out of his arms and changed to a more casual pose, by leaning against his shoulder.  
**

 

******"Feeling better now?" Spike nudged her companionably.  
**

 

******"Yes. No. I don't know," Buffy mumbled. "Can you make it stop?"  
**

 

******"Make what stop, love?" He was growing more concerned by the second.  
**

 

******"It's... Angel. He told me that he changed his mind."  
**

 

******"About what?" Spike coaxed, wondering. Whatever the jerk had done to upset her, he would pay. He'd met the poof over Christmas. Didn't have too high an opinion of him, but he seemed to make Buffy happy.  
**

 

******"He called me. He... he's transferring to Columbia University. This week. And he said that he wasn't going to come back for graduation. Or prom. Or any other event. And he doesn't want to be with me anymore. Something about-" she choked back a sob- "long-distance relationships not working!" Fat, silent tears resumed their trek down Buffy's cheeks.  
**

 

******"Oy!" Spike stood up. "Well, let's go!"  
**

 

******It was Buffy's turn to be confused. "What?"  
**

 

******"Well, the wanker's obviously too stupid to live. I say, we help him with that problem. He's still at UCLA for a few days, we'll swing by, leave him bruised and bleeding, maybe ram some hot pokers through his small intestine..." Spike trailed off with a grin, waiting to see if his gambit worked.  
**

 

******Buffy was startled into a half-smile.  
**

 

******_Success!_ "I mean," he continued,"he's rather massive and all, but between the two of us, I say we can take him."   
**

 

******Looking up at his patented smirk, Buffy could feel her desolation begin to dissipate. When she had hung up the phone earlier, she had thought her life was over. Angel was The One, her Only, and that without him, there was nothing else.  
**

 

******"Hell," he continued, getting caught up in the idea, "we could get the whole gang in on this. I know Dru would scare the ponce out of that nancy-boy, what with her loony-bin, cat-scratch fighting technique." He forked two fingers and made a hissing sound through his teeth, imitating his girlfriend.  
**

 

******Buffy started to giggle. "And Xander'd be all over him with his patented berzerker hair-pulling that worked so well against Harmony..."  
**

 

******"And never underestimate Red. She could prob'ly rip his spleen out through his windpipe," Spike added with a flourish, immensely pleased that Buffy tears were gone.  
**

 

******"Oh! We could keep score!"  
**

 

******"Bonus points for hitting the git where it hurts - the hairgel."  
**

 

******In the kitchen, Joyce smiled at the peals of laughter coming from upstairs while she added marshmallows to the steaming cocoa. It sounded like her son had come up with a solution for whatever had brough Buffy storming though the front door an hour before. Setting the two mugs on a small tray, she headed to the staircase.**

 

**********  


 

_September, 2002_

 

 _Bugger all, can I take it back?_ Spike wondered, as Buffy dragged him through yet another fine jeweler's store. It was only the fourth of the day, but he was getting tired of staring at ring after ring after ring, watching Buffy obsess over the minutest details before rejecting them one and all. He had no idea what she was looking for. He only knew that, whatever it was, she hadn't found it. 

 

"Luv, just pick something. I'm going to kill you if I have to go to another store. It's not that complicated." Spike shot a despairing glance skyward as they were accosted by yet another excited, overly-attentive sales girl. 

 

"Hi! Welcome to Jarrod's! Today we have a special on diamond solitaires and tennis bracelets...

 

Spike tuned out the rest of her little speech. _It's like she can smell the boredom. She knows that I'll buy something, anything, if only to end this ridiculous hunt for 'the perfect ring'. As if it even mattered what the ring looks like, as long as it fits... I want to go home._ Seeing the expression on Buffy's face as she eagerly conversed with the girl, he gave that up as a lost cause. 

 

"-marquise cut, or princess, the cathedral setting is very popular this year, as is the contour. Have you considered having smaller diamonds along the band as well?"

 

"I'm not really sure what I want. I've seen so many pretty rings, but not The One, you know? And I'm not sure about the diamond band, we're still students..." Buffy was torn between anticipation and disappointment. She was so eager to have a ring, to be engaged, to finally have plans laid, but Spike's still obvious reluctance was ruining her happy day. While she agreed that the true reason behind this expedition made her feel a little phony... she was still getting to buy, and wear, a diamond ring. A diamond engagement ring. She couldn't help but be excited. 

 

Buffy was just heading over to the display case to try on a few likely prospects when Spike had some kind of a mental episode. At least, that's what it seemed like to her. 

 

"ENOUGH!!" he roared. "Buffy, get out. Leave. Now. Back away from the jewelry, love, and go home. I've had enough of this. No more shopping."

 

"But-" she protested, her hand frozen, mid-reach. 

 

"No buts. I'll buy the sodding rings. I've had enough." Spike's expression wavered between pleading and commanding. Buffy hesitated a moment longer, then relented. 

 

"Fine then. But if I hate it, you have to deal with the return policy nightmare." She backed away from the ring case, making a show of keeping her hands away from the merchandise. Casually adjusting her jacket, she started towards the door. As Buffy passed Spike, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. "Don't be long. I'll be at the Java Pump." _What the hell is his problem?_

 

Spike watched her leave. When he turned back to the counter, the salesgirl was giving him a thousand-watt smile. 

 

"What kind of ring did you have in mind?" 

 

"An expensive one," he smirked slowly, watching her eyes light up with little dollar signs. "But... not from you." 

 

The girl's jaw dropped as he left the store in a swirl of black leather. _There goes my commission. Jerk._

 

Returning to a nearby jeweler, one that didn't have an annoying prat on the floor, he walked straight up to the case. The eldery man who owned the store beamed when he jabbed his finger down. 

 

"That one." 

 

Taking a cue from his brevity, the man quickly removed the simple half-carat ring from its display bed. "Anything else?" 

 

"The matching wedding band, one in the same size, and the man's ring for me." 

 

Ten minutes later and quite a few hundred lighter, Spike left the store with three white-gold rings safely in his duster pocket. _Time for an espresso._

 

Buffy was seated at a corner booth, sipping some kind of an iced frappuccino, through a straw. 

 

"Poncy girl coffee, that's what that is," he commented, sitting down next to her with his double-shot. "Bet you drink wine coolers, too." 

 

Buffy grinned back at him, glad that he was over whatever his issue had been. "I do love my daquiris." 

 

Setting a chocolate biscotti in front of her, he sipped his Italian brew. "Ah. Now _that_ is a man's drink."

 

Buffy snorted, remembering their night at Buca's. "You really _should_ have been Italian.

 

Smirk. _Oh yeah. Time to go home, put on the Manchester United match, finish that book for class tomorrow..._ Spike wandered off into a comfortable daze, enjoying the silence with his fiancee. _Oh, yeah, right._

 

Suddenly recalling the reason for his shopping reprieve, Spike put a hand into his duster's inner pocket. "Here, pet."

 

Buffy caught the jeweler box that he tossed to her. Snapping the lid open, she smiled. _Cute._ "I guess simple is best, right?"

 

"Cheaper, too." He leaned back smugly. "It wasn't too hard."

 

 _Heh. Just look at that smug bastard. Think it's over? Oh, it's just begun._ "Good job, honey. Now, there's more money in the budget for my dress." She stood up. "David's Bridal is having their bi-annual sale." 

 

She supressed her snicker at Spike's expression.

 

_Dress? Sale? ... Damn._

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Eight

 

He had thought ring shopping was bad. This was infinitely worse. Spike's despair had returned thousandfold, because ordering Buffy out (and picking one himself) just wasn't an option anymore. They were never going to get out of here. 

 

"Spike! Come here!" Buffy voice called to him from behind a rack of dresses. 

 

He groaned. "Yes, pet?" 

 

"The tuxes are over there," she pointed across the store, "you should go ask the salesman to help you find the right sizes. I'll be over to pick the style in a few, okay?" 

 

Spike gaped. "It is bloody well not okay! I am not wearing a monkey suit! I refuse." 

 

Buffy blinked. "But you have to! And you need to figure out who your groomsmen are, so that we can order theirs, too." 

 

"What part of 'no' didn't you understand, Buffy? We haven't even decided on a bleeding church wedding! I am not going to dress up like some nancy poofter over this!" He threw up his hands and turned his back on her. "God, it's like the prom all over again." 

 

**********  


 

******_May 1999..._   
**

 

 

******Spike and Buffy walked into the decorated gymnasium, arm in arm. There was a huge smirk on his face- it had been there ever since he had shown up on her doorstep earlier that night.  
**

 

******Buffy gave him a little sidelong glance, knowing exactly what was on his mind. They had spent the last three days fighting over whether or not he would be wearing a tuxedo. Spike had won. Looking at him now, in his smoke-grey suit and vivid blue shirt, she couldn't help but forgive him. In a concession to the formality of the occasion, he _was_ wearing a tie- a necktie that matched the grey of his suit. _Oh, take that, Drusilla._  
**

 

******The whole school was in a buzz about that one. Since the third week of the school year, Spike and Drusilla Kramer had been inseparable. But three days earlier, they had suddenly stopped. No explanation was given, and no dramatic scene was played out, but there were whispered rumors that she had cheated on him. No one knew for certain. Spike had seemed to bounce back rather quickly, returning to his regular, sarcastic self within hours of the breakup. Since he already had purchased a 'couples' ticket, he asked Buffy if she wanted to risk being seen with him. Of course, she had agreed.  
**

 

******After greeting Willow, Oz, Xander, and Anya, the two headed out to the dance floor. As they began to sway to the music, Buffy caught sight of Dru in the arms of Owen Thurman. She snickered.  
**

 

******"What's that, ducks?" Spike glanced down at her. The dress she had rummaged up was certainly cute. Kind of a light blue irridescent. Something like that. Skinny straps, and her hair all done up in one of those bizarrely elegant 'do's.  
**

 

******She jerked her chin in the direction of his ex. "Dru. Scraped the bottom of the barrel for a date and wound up with one of my rejects."  
**

 

******Spike followed her line of sight and furrowed his brow. "Wasn't that the bloke with the Emily Dickinson fascination?"  
**

 

******"Yup." She studied his expression, trying to figure out how this was affecting him. "Spike?"  
**

 

******"Yeah?" he turned back to her and gave her a quick whirl.  
**

 

******"Why did you and Dru break up?" It was driving her insane. They were best friends, but he still wouldn't tell her what went on at the end of the relationship. Tightening her grip on his shoulder, she could feel him tense up.  
**

 

******"There's nothing to say, love. Just didn't work. It happens, like."  
**

 

******His explanation sounded weak, but she let it go. It was senior prom, and Buffy was going to enjoy it.  
**

 

 

**********

 

 _October 1, 2002..._

 

Spike wandered into the kitchen in a pair of jeans. Half-asleep and suffering from bed-head, he casually scratched his bare stomach and opened the refrigerator. Screwing the top off the orange juice, he took a swig directly from the bottle. Then he paused. He looked through the kitchen into the living room. 

 

Willow, Anya, and Buffy were the only people he recognized. There were at least three more women and a man, dressed in a hot pink silk suit. 

 

 _What the ...?_ He shuffled closer to the chaos, trying to figure out what was going on. 

 

"Alright then, you'll want the string quartet to be playing as you walk down the aisle - have you decided on music yet? I have several different options prepared, if you just want to pick a package. Also, have you confirmed your location for the reception? There's just so much to do if you want this to be ready for November 23rd. It's extremely short notice, you know." The strange, pink-clad man paused for breath. "Felice!" he snapped, "How are the designs coming?" 

 

"Right here, sir!" One of the women brought a large sketch pad over to the couch. 

 

"Oh, that's perfect!" Buffy exclaimed. She reached out to touch a fabric swatch fastened to the corner of the page. "Can it really be ready in time?" 

 

"Buffy, it's beautiful!" Willow looked longingly at the design. "It would look so pretty on Tara..." 

 

The bride-to-be shot a glance at her friend. "It's _mine._ " 

 

Anya looked up from her calculator. "Hm, considering these figures, the cost of the fabric is feasible, but some of the embellishments have got to go if you want to stay within budget. That damn minister overcharged for the church; we've got to pinch the pennies where we can." 

 

The meaning of the scene slowly penetrated Spike's pudding brain. "Buffy?" 

 

All motion in the room stopped, and all eyes turned to him. Spike was suddenly cognizant of how his hair must look. Blinking, he realized that Buffy was the only one whose eyes were above neck-level. 

 

"Yes, honey?" she inquired sweetly.

 

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He made as if to move towards her, but was unsettled by the attention focused on his torso. 

 

Buffy set the tome of sample invitations down on the floor and moved towards the kitchen. "What do you need?" 

 

Spike grabbed her elbow and dragged her up the stairs to his room. 

 

Willow giggled. Donovan, the wedding planner, sighed heavily. "Oh dear. While I completely understand," he shot a meaningful glance at his assistants, "we are _never_ going to finish the arrangements if they do this too often." 

 

**********

 

 

Spike's jaw was clenched as he slammed the door shut behind them. 

 

"Spike! Stop it!" 

 

"Who the hell are those people? And what the bloody hell are you doing? It's nine o'clock! On a Saturday morning!" His voice was a low hiss. 

 

" 'Those people' are the wedding planner staff. I know I didn't ask you if you were alright with the date, but I had to start with something. I mean, it was almost impossible to find a church on such short notice and we couldn't waste any more time. You wouldn't believe the deposit that-" 

 

Spike cut her off with an abrupt hand motion. "Again, what the hell are you doing? This isn't Barbie Fantasy wedding, this is an arrangement between friends. We can't afford this!" 

 

"But we can! I worked a careful budget out from our savings, and Anya's helping crunch the numbers. So November 23rd is when we'll get married. We're going to have to shortcut on the invitations-" 

 

This time, Spike clapped his hands in front of her face. "Freeze, pet! Just stop. Invitations? Churches? Dates? Why are you doing all of this?" 

 

"It's our _wedding_! It's supposed to be special." She gazed at him, uncomprehending. 

 

"Oh for-! That's it!" The urge to throttle her was overwhelming. In order to keep himself from murdering his ticket to becoming an American citizen, he stomped over to his dresser and jerked open a drawer. His curses were muffled as he pulled on a black t-shirt. When his head popped through the opening, he spun back to face Buffy. "I signed up for marriage because I don't soddin' want to go back to England. I did _not_ agree to some hideous mockery where you shove our friends into flourescent green dresses and make them carry armfuls of cabbage-sized roses around a bleeding church! This is ridiculous, and we don't have time for it! Again, why are you doing this?" 

 

Buffy paused for a moment, her face reddening in anger. "Hey, you may think this is ridiculous, but I think this is going to be a wonderful wedding. It's the way I've always dreamed. I want this, don't you understand, Spike? I've dreamed of this since I was in third grade." 

 

Spike looked at her, expressionless. "If it means that much to you, you can have your dream wedding..." He watched Buffy's face light up, and he finished, "in three years." Kneeling down, he shoved his feet into his boots and then straightened. 

 

Buffy gaped at him! "Spike!" she yelled, letting fly a punch. 

 

Downstairs, the sound of his name could be heard in the living room. Everyone burst into giggles. "Well, that didn't take long at all!" Willow grinned. The grin grew wider as a loud crash was heard from upstairs. 

 

"Goodness!" Felice, the assistant, fanned herself with her sketch pad. Donovan blushed. The group all strained to hear the muffled voices and thunking of furniture, assuming the dirtiest things possible. 

 

A little while later, Spike and Buffy returned downstairs. They were both a mess, hair disheveled and clothing askew. His hand was latched onto her elbow and he was dragging her towards the front door. 

 

"Wait! Where are you going?" Willow called, blushing beet red. 

 

Spike glanced back at the redhead and snagged Buffy's purse from the side table. "The courthouse."

 

Donovan's eyes widened in alarm. He called out after the departing couple, "But what about my deposit?" 

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Nine

 

Buffy stood with her arms crossed. Her scowl was aimed at the middle of Spike's back. If there had been a sharp and pointy object within her reach, he would have been dead. As it was, she was making him damned uncomfortable. 

 

"Will you just stop already, pet? Wishing me dead won't make me let you have a massive, ridiculous affair with sodding 'Wind Beneath my Wings' for the first dance at the reception. Forget it. We're going to do this now, today. So, give up." Spike's mind was made up. The line to the county clerk's window advanced another six inches. 

 

"Fine. But I don't want to be married by a judge. We'll be waiting all day." For some reason that she couldn't explain, Buffy was hell-bent on being difficult. 

 

"Then where? And don't say 'a church' because it's the middle of the day. I doubt we can just wander into a place and find a minister with nothing better to do for an hour." 

 

Buffy just snorted. The remaining forty minutes it took for them to reach the front of the line was spent in silence.

 

A few questions, two stamps, and three quick signatures later, Spike was waving a marriage license in front of Buffy's face. "C'mon, we can be wed before the ink dries. Now, where to?" 

 

She nibbled her lower lip, and relented. "Royal Traditions. It's the little wedding chapel off Fifth and Main. They take walk-ins." 

 

"See? It's not as complicated as you think." 

 

**********

 

 

Buffy's head was spinning over how quickly it was all happening. It had taken three weeks to overcome all of his heel-dragging and reluctance, and convince Spike to marry her. Now, he was driving the DeSoto ten miles over the speed limit, like he couldn't wait to tie the knot. She was so confused. 

 

 _The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get on with our sodding lives. I've got studying to do, and I bet she hasn't even finished going through the manuals for her certification exam. Christ. Women, and their damn wedding falderal._ Spike shot a sidelong glance at his bride-to-be. "Hold on, pet."

 

Her small hands tightened convulsively on the 'oh shit' bar, as the DeSoto's brakes slammed on. A tight, hairpin turn brought them into a haphazard parallel park, and then Spike was leaping from the car. Buffy stared at her fingers, trying to convince them that the danger was over. This was going to take a while. 

 

She was dazed and almost frightened by how quickly things were going. Before Buffy had any idea what was happening, an elderly woman had shoved a bouquet of plastic roses into her arms and pointed her down a tiny aisle. Spike was already standing at the end of the room - which was only a few feet away - next to a white-haired man in a minister's suit. The little old woman scurried to a corner, and began to play a very simple version of "Here Comes the Bride". Five short strides brought her face to face with her husband-to-be. _And that 'to be' is going to be in about ten minutes!_

 

She inexplicably found herself blushing. _Oh god, oh god..._

 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." The minister began to intone the standard wedding speech. Buffy suddenly went back in time, to memories of the playground during her third grade year. All of her friends tossing wilted daisies and dandylions in the air as she and her then-boyfriend, Scott Hope, were married by an imperious fifth grader. He had given her a cheap plastic decoder ring, and she had kissed him on the cheek. Somehow, it felt the same. Playing pretend in front of a group of strangers instead of classmates, but pretending nonetheless. 

 

Buffy shook herself from her reverie.

 

"Do you, William Summers, take this woman to be your wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?" 

 

Spike's eyes had never been bluer than when he spoke. Slowly and clearly, his smooth tones filled the chapel. 

 

"I do." 

 

Buffy swallowed hard. Why did he look so intense? _Oh god, we're going to have to kiss pretty soon. Why do we have to kiss? I mean, I kissed Scott, but... was it really different?_ Blinking furiously, she realized that the reverend was speaking to her this time. 

 

"... as long as you both shall live?" The old man's kindly expression somehow made her want to cry. 

 

"I...I do." She cringed at her stuttered response, but no one seemed to notice or care. 

 

Turning to Spike, the minister began the next phase. "Do you have the rings?" 

 

Intellectually, she knew that white gold rings, produced from his jeans pocket, were the same as they had been the day they were purchased. But somehow, the plain bands seemed more dignified now. Almost... solemn. To Buffy, they looked like a pair of handcuffs. _Definitely not a decoder ring._

 

Spike was surprised at his lack of nerves. He was standing steadily, his voice was clear, and his hands never wavered as he took Buffy's in his own. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that this was all an elaborate game. True, not as elaborate as she wanted to make it, but it was still just a game. A pose. A marriage as plastic as the bouquet she held. He cleared his throat, and spoke the words that would ensure his place in the world. 

 

"With this ring, I thee wed." The smaller of the two bands slipped easily onto Buffy's finger. 

 

She looked almost scared as she fumbled with his ring. He felt a little bit bad for her... but he had given her plenty of time to back out. She had been the one to pressure him over this whole thing. _And she's bloody well stuck with me now._

 

Her voice regained its confidence as she mirrored his words. "With this ring, I thee wed." 

 

"By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." The diminutive reverend beamed at the newlyweds. 

 

Buffy's mind was filled with chaotic babbling. _We're going to kiss now. Why? And why does this upset me so? This isn't happening, it isn't... but it is. It really is..._ The rest of her thoughts started to swirl around like a milkshake in a blender, watching in near terror as Spike's head drew nearer to her own. _SPIKE LIPS! LIPS OF SPIKE!_ And then they were upon her. 

 

There was the briefest of moments when his mouth brushed hers. The tiniest of contacts. _Is that all?_ She didn't know whether to be disappointed or not. Then she shook herself. _It's just Spike. No big. It's still... us._ Buffy met his mildly concerned look and gave him a broad smile. "We're still us." 

 

He smirked. "You were expecting the Easter Bunny, perhaps?" 

 

Right about then, the processional blared out of the speakers, startling all three of them. After shaking hands with the minister and thanking him, they headed back to the DeSoto in a cloud of bubbles, blown by the minister's wife and their three grandchildren. 

 

Buffy giggled, reaching up to pop one that had settled on Spike's hair. "Aw, I guess I didn't give you time to properly gel your instrument of death this morning." 

 

He laughed. "Yeah, well, it's not like I've never gone without before." 

 

Buffy stared. "When?" she demanded. 

 

"Uh..." Spike wracked his brain while his wife's expression grew more smug by the moment. "You know what?"

 

"What?" 

 

"You're an annoying chit, that's what." 

 

**********

 

 

Willow was in the Giles', kitchen refilling her lemonade, when Felice came up behind her. 

 

"This is an awfully nice house for the two of them... do they rent?" 

 

"No, actually," Willow replied, closing the refrigerator. "They live here with Buffy's dad." 

 

Felice looked taken aback. "Isn't that... awkward for them? I mean, considering how they... carry on," she phrased delicately. 

 

Willow laughed. "Actually, Giles is at some kind of a research convention in Colorado for the next two weeks. So..." She arched her brow meaningfully. 

 

Felice laughed. "I remember when my husband and I were newlyweds. You might want to watch what furniture you touch around here, from now on." 

 

Willow joined in her laughter. "Oh, I don't know if they'll be that bad-" 

 

The front door swung open to reveal the two blondes arguing on the doorstep. 

 

"I don't care if it is tradition, it's a bloody ridiculous custom," Spike groused.

 

"Come on! I let you pick the rings, the date, the ceremony - humor me! Humor me or discover the wrath that is a pissed-off wife!" Buffy was tapping a toe, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. 

 

"Oh for-" Spike gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed her around the waist. He ignored her squeals and slung her over one shoulder, taking two big steps, and dumping her on the couch amidst piles of "Modern Bride" magazines. "Happy?"

 

Buffy struggled to maintain her glare, then burst into peals of laughter. 

 

Spike grinned, inordinately pleased with himself. 

 

"Buffy!" Willow and Anya magically appeared at her side. "You did it? You're married?!" 

 

The young woman beamed at them. "Yup!" She held up her hand to display both rings. 

 

"Isn't that just the most darling thing I have ever seen!" Donovan cooed. 

 

Seeing that the entire group had clustered around his wife, Spike cleared his throat. "Alright people. It's been a long day. You've said your piece. Now get out, there's a Manchester United match on in five minutes and I don't want to bloody well miss it." 

 

Various sly looks were exchanged around the room, and people began gathering their belongings. There were muffled giggles and yet more sly looks. 

 

"Soccer. Good one, Spike," Willow stated blandly, giving him a peck on the cheek before dragging Anya towards the door. 

 

The feisty accountant struggled in the redhead's grip. "See Buffy? I told you that it would all work out, if you just took advantage of those excellent orgasm abilities you were telling me about!" 

 

Spike sputtered. There was no other word for it. Then, he turned beet red. "Buffy!"

 

"Anya!" Buffy was completely embarassed by the other woman's utter lack of tact. 

 

"Dr. Scott!" Donovan whispered to Felice, trying not to laugh. 

 

"Janet!" she murmured back, completing the movie quote. The other two assistants sniggered. 

 

Buffy, who overheard them, shot them a dark look. Still giggling, the wedding planners gathered their equipment and started to leave. 

 

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to do more, Buffy. But if you ever just want to do lunch?" Donovan held his hand up to his ear, imitating the "call me" sign. With a saucy wink, he ushered his girls out of the Giles home. 

 

"Well, Mr. Summers." Buffy tried to regain her composure. 

 

"Well, Mrs. Summers," Spike grinned,"would you grab me the Guiness? Match's on." With that, he flopped down on the vacated couch and reached for the remote control. Buffy started to laugh. 

 

"Oh, woe is me," she said mockingly. "Not even married three hours, and the romance is gone, all gone." Returning to the room with a beer in each hand, she curled up on her end of the couch. "Spike! You didn't say they were playing Southampton!" Buffy settled down to watch with avid interest. 

 

Spike's eyes were glued to the screen, but he spared a moment to appreciate his life. _Not every day a bloke marries a girl that not only fetches the beer, but likes to watch football._

 

**********

 

 

Much later that evening, Spike started to get ready for bed. Reflected moonlight brought his attention to his left hand, and the ring that now adorned it. _Strange. I don't feel any different, but... things aren't the same anymore._ Shrugging out of his button-down shirt, he pulled his tee over his head in a quick motion. As he reached for his belt buckle, he was startled by a knock on his bedroom door. 

 

His hand froze where it was. "Pet?" he called out, wondering what she was up to. His unspoken question was answered when she entered the room. Spike's eyes widened in shock as he took in the gauzy vision that was approaching him. In the moonlight, she looked like an angel, a nymph, the cover of a trashy romance novel. 

 

Dressed in a short, silky white nightgown, Buffy continued towards him. Stopping at arms length from him, she turned slightly pink and looked away. Her hands toyed with the hem of her gown. "I thought maybe, since we didn't do the whole ceremony thing... you might possibly" -here she gulped- "want to have a proper wedding night?" 

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Ten 

 

Willow was smiling broadly across the cafe table. Her manicured fingers twined with her girlfriend, Tara's. "So, Buffy. How's married life treating you?" 

 

Buffy managed a grin, then went back to poking through her caesar salad. "Not bad at all. It's pretty much the same as before." 

 

"And last night? Was it wonderful? All, candles and sweetness, and tender smoochies?" The redhead leaned forward to catch every juicy morsel of information.

 

"Huh? Willow! Spike and I have never had sex. Ever. We've always been just friends." The blonde looked up at her friend. 

 

"What? You're lying. Not even once? Like, post-breakup cuddling or anything?" Willow sounded disappointed.

 

Buffy just laughed at her. 

 

"Well, I thought that the two of you were, you know... Everyone does. You're just so good together." Tara's soft voice was almost a whisper. 

 

"No. Not remotely. There is not now, nor has there ever been, any type of groiny behavior between me and Spike." Buffy tried to sound firm, but wound up sounding... hurt? 

 

"Not even now? But - but you're married!" Willow looked shocked and well, yes, scandalized. 

 

"Do you remember that just five weeks ago, I was asking you to marry him?" Buffy was getting testy. 

 

"Well, yeah, but that was just for the- oh! Oh!" Comprehension dawned. "You mean, it wasn't a sudden climactic realization of the 'pulse-pounding, knee-weakening passion-that-all-of-your-friends-can-see-but-you-don't' between you and Spike? It was just... immigration?" Now, she looked affronted. 

 

Slowly, the newlywed nodded. "Business. Not personal." 

 

Willow and Tara exchanged a significant glance. Buffy was keeping something from them. 

 

"If it wasn't personal, then why do you look so upset?" As always, the voice of tact belonged to Tara. 

 

"I'm not upset, just... I don't know." Buffy stabbed viciously at an olive. 

 

"Do I need to hurt him for you? Because, you know, I could," Willow offered, her brow scrunched up in concern. 

 

Her friend set down her fork forcefully and pushed her plate away. "No, Will, I'm fine, really. Spike didn't do anything." Her jaw tightened. 

 

Tara's eyes widened. "But, but you wanted him to?" 

 

The other blonde looked like she was about to cry. "I don't know. When I try to think about Spike that way, I always end up laughing. But at the same time... why didn't he want me?" She began decimating her napkin.

 

"What happened?" Willow repeated. 

 

"I went to him last night, because... well, I really don't know why. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And I asked him if he wanted to have a real wedding night, and I was wearing a cute little nightgown, and he said no! He said it was a bad idea, and that I should cover myself, and we wound up watching Hitchcock movies on the SciFi channel until four in the morning." By this time, Buffy's napkin was in teeny tiny shreds. 

 

"But that's so sweet!" The redhead smiled cheerfully. "If he was just being a meanie, there would have been no scary movie goodness." 

 

Tara nodded in agreement. "It must be the situation, you know? He's probably just freaked out or something." 

 

Buffy sighed. "Being married isn't at all what I thought it would be." 

 

Willow giggled. "Hey, it could be worse." 

 

"How?" 

 

"It could be Scott Hope." 

 

**********

 

 

Spike looked positively frazzled. He had a saucepan, two skillets, and the oven all going at the same time. A pile of dirty dishes cluttered the sink, and he was reading a dog-eared copy of _Norton's Anthology of English Literature_. 

 

Buffy giggled, set her bookbag down next to the couch, and snuck up on her husband. "Gotcha!" she shouted, poking him sharply in the ribs. 

 

Spike let out an undignified squeal, dropping the thick book on the floor. "Hey! Not playing fair. I've got to finish re-reading 'The Faerie Queen' if I want to finish up that paper for tomorrow." 

 

His wife seemed to ignore him, wandering over to the stove and sniffing the contents of the pan. "Mm. What's cookin', good-lookin'?" She grinned back at him impishly. 

 

He rolled his eyes. "Insufferable. That's what you are, pet. It's just some pasta. Nothing too exotic." 

 

"It looks to me like there's shrimp, grilled in garlic and olive oil and sundried tomatos to go on that pasta. Spike, you're a god in the kitchen." Buffy fished a shrimp out and popped it in her mouth.

 

"Oy!" he whacked at her knuckles with a snatched up wooden spoon. "No sampling!" 

 

She pouted. "But I'm hungry!" 

 

"Five minutes. Set the table, or put ice in glasses. Be useful, for once." Spike scowled teasingly. 

 

She laughed. "Last time you told me to be useful in the kitchen, it took three days to get the burnt smell out of the house." 

 

"You're a bloody menace. Now get the ice!" 

 

The promised five minutes later, Spike and Buffy were seated at a delicious casual dinner. There was no candlelight or romantic music playing; it was sheer domesticiy. 

 

Buffy grinned a little bit to herself. 

 

"What's so funny, ducks? You scare me when you look like that." Her husband contrived to look slightly worried. 

 

"I was just thinking, I should get you one of those novelty aprons. The ones that say 'Kiss the Cook'." She took another generous bite of shrimp pasta. 

 

"Sure, pet. Feel free to buy things for me to set on fire. It'll give you a chance to practice." He quirked his scarred eyebrow at her. 

 

"I think the volunteer fire department frowns on setting practice fires. They might not let me join if we did that," Buffy mock-lectured. 

 

"Ah, but you're a shoo-in. Tiny enough to scurry into ducts after lost kiddies, strong enough to drag grown men out the raging inferno by their collars." 

 

"All, while carrying a sixty pounds of equipment. Yay Buffy, strong like ox." She smiled self-deprecatingly.

 

Spike drained half his water glass. "I never will understand how you pack so much power into that itty-bitty body of yours." 

 

Buffy glared. "Aerobics and powerlifting. And don't forget, kicking your ass around the ju-jitsu mat." She sighed in an exaggerated parody of wistfulness. "It's like being in high school again. Wiping the floor clean with your sorry tail..." 

 

"Oh, right, that happened _so_ often," Spike smirked at her. 

 

"Hey, once a loser, always a loser." Buffy did the most mature thing that she could think of at the moment. She stuck her tongue out at him.

 

Spike laughed. 

 

 

**********

 

 

"Hitchcock again? Or do we want to have a Wes Craven-palooza tonight?" Buffy leaned against the door to Spike's room with a video in each hand. She had changed into a pair of baggy pajama pants and a tank top, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. 

 

Spike looked up from his computer screen, glasses perched precariously on his nose. "Um... neither?" 

 

"Uh!" she made a sound of annoyance. "Why not?" 

 

He motioned towards the keyboard. "If I don't finish typing this paper, I won't get it turned in on time. If I don't turn it in on time, Professor Brooks won't accept it. If Professor Brooks doesn't accept it, I fail the course. If I fail the course, I'm a quarter behind, and I'll never graduate on time." 

 

"Well, when you put it that way." Buffy shrugged and tossed the tapes on the bed. She perched on the edge of his desk and peered at the screen. " 'Analysis of _the Faerie Queen_ as An Existentialist Metaphor'... Yikes. Sounds pretty heavy." 

 

Spike adjusted his glasses and shrugged. "It's really not, you just have to know how to support your claims. Spenser was a wordy enough bloke, you can make his writings say anything you want as long as you spin it right."

 

Buffy shuddered again. "While I agree with you in principle, I still don't see how you find so much depth and meaning in an old poem written by a guy who's dead. Don't get me wrong, I love poetry, you know that. But sometimes? I really don't get you English majors." 

 

Spike just laughed. "What is there to get? Words are powerful. You've studied some law, you know how people can twist things around by using them. It's just like that." 

 

She considered it. "Well, yeah, but... it's for a purpose. You pick a stance and make your arguments support that stance." 

 

"Same here. You pick a meaning and argue until it makes sense." Spike grinned triumphantly. 

 

Buffy shook her head as if to clear out some cobwebs. "It's late. I think I'm getting confused. I guess I'll leave you alone to finish up." She tousled his hair. "See you in the morning?" 

 

"Breakfast, bright and early," he replied with a chuckle.

 

Buffy just groaned. "Early is bad. Sleep is of the good." Nevertheless, she hopped off the desk and started to leave. As she passed the dresser, something caught her eye. She paused, looking at the yearbook which had been knocked to the floor. It lay open to a page of candid shots of their senior year.

 

"Spike?" 

 

He turned away from the computer again. "Yes?" 

 

She pointed to the photo of Drusilla Kramer, who had her arms wrapped around Spike's shoulders, for an adorable couple shot. "Why _did_ you and Dru break up? You never said." 

 

Spike snorted and faced the screen again, begining to type. "Why not ask why we got together?" 

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Eleven

"Hey, B - long time, no see." Faith Reniemov leaned against the brick wall of the firehouse, drinking from a water bottle. 

 

Buffy wiped at the soot and sweat that smudged her cheeks, then raked her fingers through her mussed hair. "God, it's hot today." 

 

Faith just grinned. "You don't see me complainin'." 

 

Buffy looked at her coworker quizzically, then comprehension dawned. It was a training day, therefore, the volunteer fire fighters were running drills, jogging laps, and basically concentrating on physical fitness. Since it was ninety degrees in the shade, all the male volunteers were shirtless. "You're impossible." 

 

The brunette flashed a cocky smirk, then stretched. "There's just something about a man in a rubber suit..." Her eyebrows wiggled lasciviously. 

 

"Did you have a Batman complex as a teenager? Because if not, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Buffy leaned against the wall next to her. 

 

"Then I won't sully your pretty, pure mind. So what'cha been up to, B? Usually you're all about the ogling of the man-goodies." Faith took another drink, fanning herself. She, too, was feeling the heat. 

 

"I guess your perspective changes once you're married." She glanced sideways at her friend through lowered lashes, wanting to see her reaction.

 

"Holy shit! I don't see you for a month, and next thing I know, you're married? To who? Last boy-toy was Riley, and I thought that was over..." Faith stood up straight and cocked her head. 

 

Buffy grimaced at the reminder. "Um. Yeah. Riley was a while ago." Her brow arched meaningfully. 

 

Faith swore. "Seriously, I really didn't know he was taken, I swear. I just saw a sexy drunk guy and, well, short ride." She twitched her hips to illustrate. "Are you still sore over that?" 

 

Buffy tried to glare, but Faith's genuine contrition - well, for Faith - made her soften. "No. It didn't work out. The break-up wasn't over you. And like I said, it was a while ago." 

 

"Then who's the lucky stiff? I didn't think any man was good enough for you. Hell, no man is good, period." She gave yet another patented Faith-grin. 

 

"It's-" Buffy was interrupted by their sergeant's bellow. 

 

"GILES! RENIEMOV! GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE PRONTO!" 

 

"Tell you later," she hurriedly tossed out , and started to jog over to the obstacle course for the fifth time that afternoon. 

 

Two hours and a grueling work out later, both women dragged their exhausted bodies towards the showers. 

 

"Damn, B. Does anyone else just want to kick that guy's ass?" Faith groaned as she peeled off her sodden muscle shirt and stepped into a shower. Buffy went into the adjacent stall, also dropping sweaty clothing on her way. 

 

"Well, yeah, but if we did, they'd probably not let us do all the important, life-saving type stuff." 

 

The brunette laughed. "So, what were you saying earlier? Who'd you get married to?" 

 

"Actually, it's Spike." Buffy twisted the faucets. Soon she let out a happy sigh as gloriously tepid water rained down on her. Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp bark of laughter.

 

"Are you shitting me? You snagged the big bad? Damn. I was all set to express, like, my sorrow that you went and settled down, but... damn. You get _Spike_. And you're like, married." Faith sounded almost awed. 

 

Buffy was a little bit confused. "What's with the hero-worship? I mean, he's a great guy and all..." 

 

"Not a great guy. _Spike._ So tell me about it. Dish, girl!" 

 

"Dish what?" The blonde was growing yet more baffled by Faith's enthusiasm. 

 

"Inches, stamina, positions... tell me all about how the man makes you go 'ugh'!" Faith's grunt startled a laugh out of the women in the other stalls. 

 

"Don't you know that already? You two did date. And Faith, we all know what you're like," Buffy teased. 

 

"Love 'em and leave 'em. Wait, don't love them, fuck them. Wham, bam, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out." She sounded rather proud of herself. 

 

"Mixed metaphors and mixed drinks. That's you." Buffy was smiling as she grabbed the shampoo. 

 

"Yeah. Well, anyways, I never got to make the crazy monkey sex with Spike. He was all, 'We don't know each other that well,' and being sensitive and crap. I held out for four weeks, trying to wear him down, but the man has self-control like I've never seen." The water in Faith's stall shut off and she began to towel herself dry. "I was not built for celibacy." 

 

Buffy blinked. _They hadn't? But-_ "But you told everyone you had," she spoke out loud. 

 

"Couldn't ruin my record, could I, B?" By now, the other woman was stepping out into the main room, wrapped in her towel.

 

"I guess not. Who would believe it, a man Faith hasn't banged."

 

"You know it... well, I've got to see a man about some tube steak, so I'll see ya next week. And you'd better have something juicy for me." One last Faith smirk, and she was gone, her jeans pulled on in a flash and a tank top tugged down over her head. 

 

Buffy wrinkled her nose and spoke into the empty air. "Tube steak? Ew." 

 

***********

 

 

Spike was sprawled across the couch when Buffy came into the living room. " 'ello, pet. How was training?" he asked, with a small tilt of his head. 

 

"Brutal. Absolutely horrific. I am so sore..." she groaned in reply. 

 

He clucked his tongue in sympathy. "Need anything? I didn't feel like cooking, but if you're hungry, I can throw something together."

 

Buffy shook her head and plopped down next to him. "No, it's ok... Anything good on?" She motioned towards the television. 

 

"Not particularly, but MST3000 is on in ten. Want me to make popcorn and smoothies?" Spike started to get up from the couch. 

 

A hopeful look was aimed at him. "Strawberry?" 

 

"If we've got any left. Be right back, pet." Spike smiled and went into the kitchen. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, the two were practically doubled over with laughter. "Okay, I did NOT realize that when they said it was called "The Ex Factor" that it would be about that guy's former girlfriends, all chasing after him with meat cleavers," Buffy giggled. 

 

"It's a perfectly plausible plot device," Spike interjected snootily. 

 

"Yikes. We have got to get you away from those damned poetry books. You're aliterating again." Buffy elbowed him, snagging another handful of popcorn. 

 

"Oy! Don't make me spill!" He clutched his smoothie protectively. "And if I weren't at those 'damned poetry books' all the time, you wouldn't even know what aliteration was." 

 

"And that's bad because...?" 

 

Spike was distracted by a fountain of obviously fake blood spewing from a stab wound on a leggy, on-screen blonde. "Tch," he scoffed. "Shouldn't knife the blonde, wanker. Everyone knows it's the brunettes that are going to eat your eyeballs..." 

 

"Oh!" Buffy exclaimed. "I was talking with one of _your_ exes today."

 

Spike turned his head towards her quizzically. "By the clever segue, I'm going to say it wasn't Harmony." 

 

"Nope. Faith. Turns out she's volunteering with my department," she smiled. 

 

"Well, that's just... neat." He faced the screen again and settled back in his seat.

 

"Yeah, she said you weren't that memorable either," Buffy mentioned casually, trying to provoke a response. _Bingo!_

 

"Not memorable? Hell, I'm prob'ly the only guy she's ever dated that didn't let her use him for a doormat. That alone should make me memorable." Spike snorted in disgust, taking another drink from his strawberry beverage.

 

"I think she meant it more in a 'sexual performance' kind of way. But whatever," she continued to prod.

 

This time, Spike laughed outright. "She wouldn't know, pet. That's why it ended. She didn't want a boyfriend, she wanted a walking, smoking, sex toy, and I wouldn't have it." 

 

Buffy grinned impishly at her husband. "Wow. When you put it that way, I can see how she could've had a good thing going..." She shielded her popcorn when he brandished a throw pillow at her. 

 

"You should watch yourself, ducks. Little girl like you, could get hurt messing with the wrong person," he almost purred. 

 

Buffy laughed in his face. "You do recall, the last time you said that to me, you wound up flat on your ass in front of the entire high school." 

 

Spike started laughing, too. "Yeah, well, I've gotten older, you know. Stronger, faster, better than ever." 

 

"Uh huh, that's why you almost never spar with me at the gym any more." 

 

He growled deep in his throat, and made as if to lunge at her. 

 

"Hey! Hey! Time!" She waved her free hand at him, and the T.V. screen entered her line of vision. "Oh, ew! She really _is_ eating his eyeballs... gross." 

 

"Yeah, brunettes are kind of predictable like that," Spike drawled, throwing one arm over the back of the couch. 

 

"Ok, I for one did not see that coming. Was Drusilla really that batty?" 

 

"Abrupt topic change, but yeah, she did act a bit touched. When she would get angry, she'd go for the eyes." He crooked two fingers into pseudo-claws and scratched at the air. 

 

"You have a gift for understatement. Dru was fucking nuts," Buffy declared, somehow pleased by her use of a rare expletive. 

 

Spike frowned. "Well, she had every right to be. And if we're going to talk about my past, why don't we trot out stories of farm boy?" He quirked a disparaging brow. 

 

Buffy groaned. "No! Anything but Riley stories!" 

 

"Did you know that he cornered me in my dorm one time? Bloody well near stabbed me with a tent stake I had on my dresser. Mouthing off about how I was hot for his honey." He snorted. "Not bloody likely." 

 

"Hey!" Buffy whapped his arm.

 

"What? No offense, love, but we've never been more than friends." He paused. "Well, except for the whole being married thing we're doing now. But you know what I mean. The git tried to stab me."

 

"You _did_ slap my ass when we were in the cafeteria for lunch that afternoon.

 

"Did it to piss him off, and it worked right well." Spike bit out a laugh. "Two of us wound up getting drunk together that night, and-" 

 

"Stop!" Buffy wrinkled her nose. "I don't think I want to know the end of that story." 

 

The blonde's eyes widened in shock and horror. "You're a perverted chit, you know that?" 

 

"Hey, you started it, what with the getting drunk with my boyfriend when I wasn't there." Buffy giggled. 

 

There was a rueful sigh. "Like I said. Perverted." 

 

"Hey, I know girls... well, and guys... who would pay good money for a video of that particular combo. Even stories about it," she heckled mercilessly. 

 

"Pet, I'm going to vomit all over your popcorn if you don't shut the hell up." Spike looked decidedly green. "...why?" he spoke plaintively after a long moment. 

 

Buffy shrugged. "Might have to do with the whole All-American soldier-boy meets British rebel. A clash of the colonies. Oh. That'd be a great title for a porn." 

 

Spike turned yet another shade of chartreuse. "Who are you and where did you put my sweet, quiet wife, who does not talk like this, EVER." 

 

Said wife just giggled at his expression. "What?" she inquired innocently.

 

"Oh, I suppose I should just get you back. Like tell you about what I heard Larry say during senior year, when you, Red, and Cheerleader were all huddled over homework in the library." 

 

"What?" Buffy looked faintly disturbed. 

 

"Said something about, 'Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. All they need is some whipped cream, and I could make me a banana split.' " A wide smirk split his features.

 

"Oh, ew! I mean, Willow would've maybe gone for it, but me and Cordy? Get real. Now, Faith on the other hand..." 

 

Spike's jaw hit the floor. "What?" 

 

Buffy started to laugh. "Just kidding. I swear, I'm straight." 

 

"Sure about that?" He ducked the pillow that suddenly gained the powers of flight. 

 

"You know, we've been saying 'what?' an awful lot tonight," Buffy mused, as she had another random change of thought. 

 

"And your point is...?" Having assumed that there was a truce from the deliberate grossing out, he relaxed again. 

 

"Didn't really have one. Just an observation. And did you know that Larry's gay?" 

 

"What?" 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

  
Chapter Twelve

 

_Early December, 2002_

 

Spike chewed idly on his pen cap as he glowered at the computer screen. Savagely, he clicked the 'refresh' icon, but the information on the webpage didn't change. The pen flew violently - and blindly - across the room.

 

"Ow! Dammit, Spike! That hurt!" Buffy clutched her forehead where the writing utensil had smacked her right between the eyes. 

 

He almost fell out of his chair in startlement. "I'm sorry! I wasn't even paying attention... are you alright, pet?" He scrambled to her side.

 

"I'm fine." She drew her hand away from her forehead and glared at him. 

 

Spike made an undignified sound. 

 

The corner of his wife's mouth quirked. "Did you just go 'meep'?"

 

"No!" he scoffed. "Not at all, you must've misheard or something." He cleared his throat, manly pride intact.

 

"Well, the least you can do is tell me what's got you in a pen-throwing rage." Buffy folded her arms across her chest. 

 

Spike started to fidget. " 's my bleeding schedule," he groused. "I did a degree audit, to see what I need to finish up. After all, last semester before it's time to hit grad school." He grimaced. 

 

"And?" Buffy tilted her head in an uncanny imitation of him. 

 

"And turns out that I'm short a general education requirement." 

 

She blinked at him. "But as a senior, you get priority. Shouldn't be a problem to get in and take care of it." Buffy failed to see the dilemma. 

 

"No, as a senior, I get priority in all of my major requirements. I get nothing on my gen-eds. Plus, I sortofmissedmyregistrationdeadline..." he finished in a semi-coherent mumble. 

 

"Come again? You missed the registration deadline? Spike!" Buffy's hands had come to rest on her hips. 

 

"I know, I know. I sort of forgot, what with all of the papers my professors suddenly threw at me," he looked at her sheepishly, ducking his head.

 

Buffy brushed past him to sit at the computer desk. "Ok, then what do you need to take?" 

 

"I'm short a phys ed credit, pet." Spike almost groaned again. 

 

Buffy snapped around to gape at him in disbelief. "Phys ed? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into anything but 'Personal Fitness for Dummies'?" 

 

Spike motioned between the computer and the door. "Hence my pen-throwing rage." 

 

Buffy took a deep breath and turned back to the monitor. Determinedly, she cracked her neck, then all of her knuckles. "Well, let's see what we can do."

**********

An hour later, Spike was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned in lazy circles. "I'm never going to graduate, am I?" 

 

The question itself was rhetorical, since he was the only one in the room.

 

In the kitchen, Buffy hung up her phone with a sense of triumph. Every single P.E. class had turned up full, with a forty-plus person waiting list for any openings. So, driven to desparate measures, she had played her final card.

 

She had called her favorite professor, and gotten her to squeeze Spike in. _Now, as long as he doesn't murder me in my sleep, we'll all be fine._

 

Buffy approached her husband with the caution due a wild beast. "Spike?"

 

He continued to stare blankly at the fan, his eyes moving in a circular pattern as they followed the blades. 

 

"Spike!" This time, she threw caution to the wind, and slapped his stomach. 

 

"What?" He half sat up, a lost sort of look in his eyes. 

 

"God, do I have to solve everything for you? I got you into a class that'll cover you." 

 

"You did?" Hope lit his features, then sharpened into suspicion. "It'd better not be something poncey, like ballet."

 

"No, not ballet." Here, Buffy began to shift nervously. "Normally, it's not a P.E. credit, but I talked to the prof, who spoke to your advisor, who said that they'll accept it. And I'm in it, too, so you won'd be alone. I mean, I'm taking it for a Western Culture credit, but still-"

 

"WHAT class?" Spike nearly shouted, in an attempt to stop her Willow-esque babbling. "What class am I in, Buffy?" His tone bordered on menacing. 

 

She swallowed hard. "Latin American Dance Styles." 

 

Spike nearly fainted. 

 

"It's not nancy! Or.. poofy." Buffy stumbled over the British slang, and tried again. "Plus, Latin Dancing - very sexy! You should be good at it."

 

"Oh, right. A married bloke shaking his money maker to a bunch of wankers beating their bongos. Very sexy, love." 

 

"Right! ...hey!" Her face fell, and she peered up at him through lowered lashes. "I _did_ try, Spike. Really, I did." 

 

He heaved a huge sigh in response. "I believe you, pet. Doesn't mean I'm too bloody thrilled about it, though." 

 

"But it'll be okay, right?" Buffy persisted in asking. 

 

"Yeah. At least, I can step on your toes in revenge." Spike gave her a half-hearted smirk. 

 

She laughed, then faltered. "You're kidding, right? I mean, I've sparred with you, you're all graceful and stuff..." 

 

Spike grimaced. "You have at that. But, you've never seen me dance." 

 

**********

 

 

" _There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciouness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings._ " Professor Kensington looked up from the lectern and smiled. "What a beautiful thought. Longfellow," he stabbed his finger down on the open book, "had many ideas that he expressed in succinct statements, just like in _Love's Silken Wings_. Most, however, are buried in his longer poems. So, today, we're focusing on single lines, like the one I just read. Tell me what it makes you think of. What did it make you feel?" He looked around the classroom. "Anyone?" 

 

The handful of students in his Advanced American Poetry class fidgeted in their seats. Inevitably, Kensington turned his attention to one of his more promising students. "Spike? What do you think?" 

 

Spike snorted and crossed his feet at the ankles. Said ankles were propped on a nearby chair. "I think Longfellow's a bloody wanker, that's what." 

 

A gasp came from a petite brunette seated nearby. "What? How can you say that?" 

 

"Easy. _Nothing_ is holier than the realization of love? Please. It's melodramatic, its statement is too complex for the simple concept that it is, and frankly, it's being considered out of the context of Longfellow's other works." Spike cocked his head to the side. 

 

"But love _is_ the holiest of all things! I mean, when two people are just meant to be togther, it's like magic. It's spiritual. And I completely see where the poet's coming from - since love is such a wondrous thing, the only thing more sacred is the realization of that wonder." 

 

The bleached blonde dropped one booted foot to the floor with a loud 'thud'. He leaned forward, starting to break from his casual pose. "Oh, come off it. What are you saying, when two people are 'meant to be'? You mean love is sacred because of fate?" 

 

"Yes," she replied primly. "Love is something miraculous that happens, a revelation of soulmates. Longfellow is completely right." 

 

"Spike, Serena. We're getting a little off-topic. Do you want to focus your argument again? Maybe talk about the context for a little bit?" Professor Kensington half-seated himself on his desk, crossing his arms over his chest in anticipation of a good argument. 

 

"Alright. You want context? Longfellow changes his mind in practically every poem as to what is so important. In that little line, he said it was the realization of love. In _Paul Revere's Ride_ , it's all about duty and patriotic fervor. Hell, if you read _The Leap of Roushan Beg_ , you end up half-convinced that your bloody life in incomplete because you don't have such a fabulous horse." Spike rolled his eyes. 

 

"But don't forget that many of his poems deal with romance, affection, and the idealization of womanhood," Serena felt compelled to interject. 

 

"Right, because as a heterosexual male, almost all of his imagery involves women." Spike gave a little leer, and there were scattered chuckles. 

 

"You're just saying things like that because you don't have any idea what real love is," she sniffed back at him. 

 

Spike met her gaze, and was completely silent for almost fifteen seconds. "Oh, I've an idea, pet. An idea about love that isn't some frilly line of poetry, or some promise made on a moonlit night. Those are just words." Spike broke eye contact and looked around the room. "Love isn't brains, children, it's blood... blood screaming inside you to work its will. It isn't fluttering wings, " he reached over to Serena's desk, and snatched her notebook away. 

 

"Hey!"

 

Holding it aloft, Spike finished with a wry grin. "And it's _certainly_ not scribbling 'Serena and Nicholas Forever' on all of your English notes." 

 

Serena grabbed the notebook back, blushing furiously at the grins around her. 

 

"Then you agree with Longfellow." 

 

Everyone looked sharply to the back of the classroom, where a tall girl with jet black hair leaned against the wall. 

 

"Et tu, Mariel?" Spike stared in disbelief at what was usually his strongest supporter. 

 

She snickered, and displayed empty hands. "No daggers here, just observations. The whole point of your little rant - which was rather impressive, I might add - was that you _do_ consider love to be a potent, powerful force. Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor Kensington, but we were discussing the merits of love, and the conscious realization of it, as a holy institution. Spike, you just admitted to it."

 

Serena looked smug, and Spike made as if to protest. 

 

"No, hear me out, man. It's all about how you conceptualize love. Oh, sure, I know what you're saying about the Valentine's Day corniness, and the teeny-bopper infatuation aspects being unimportant, but just listen to yourself. You're completely right. And you're completely in denial. You just said that love is blood. The kind of love that's real - the kind that's balls, bone, and blood, head to toe - now _that's_ sacred." Mariel smiled slightly, watching her flummoxed friend. 

 

"Well, what about life?" Spike threw out, almost desperately. 

 

"What about it?" she shrugged, cocking her head. 

 

"Isn't life itself something more sacred?" He settled into his argument, trying not to seem like he was grasping at straws. 

 

"Life itself, or the creation of life? Because life comes from love." 

 

A short bark of laughter met Mariel's reply. "Yeah, and life can be created in ten short, sweaty minutes in the back of a Chevy. Not a love thing, just hormones." 

 

"But what if they were in love?" Serena piped in. 

 

Both Mariel and Spike gave her an incredulous look. "And what if they weren't?" Spike shot back. 

 

"Even if they weren't," Mariel started slowly, "it takes an act of love to bring life about. And I'm not talking about conception. Bearing a life, holding a child inside of you for nine months and then being an intimate part of allowing that child to breathe air and see light for the first time? That's love. That's the kind of love that you can't explain in words." By this time, she was staring intently at Spike, who bit his lower lip. 

 

A brief expression of pain flashed across his face. 

 

Mariel shrugged again, wondering at what had struck him, but choosing not to pursue it. "I'm just saying. There's more love than just _eros_ , if you'll indulge my Greek-speak for a moment. My roommate's a Theology major," she added by way of apology. " _Eros_ is passionate affection. _Agape_ is God-love, the kind that surpasses human understanding and lets you forgive people even if they've done horrible things to you. But _philios_... We can all have _philios_. That's love between family, between brother and sister, mother and son."

 

Again, she spotted that flash. 

 

"It's love between friends. It's just... there. You don't have to understand it to appreciate it, and you don't have to explain it to feel it every day." 

 

Professor Kensington's reluctant declaration that the class was over saved Spike from having to mull over her arguments - well, at least he was saved from doing it in front of witnesses.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

Chapter Thirteen

_December 25, 2002 : **9:00am**_

 

Buffy whistled cheerfully to herself as she wandered down the stairs in her robe. There was sleeping in, and no finals to study for, and no classes to go to, and no finals, and she could smell waffles cooking, and had she mentioned, finals were over? 

 

Spike uttered a muffled curse as he melted another spatula trying to get the ancient waffle iron to disgorge its contents. "Alright, next time, someone slap me before I believe the label that says 'non-stick'." 

 

"Really? You're giving permission to be slapped?" Buffy hopped up on the kitchen counter and kicked her feet. 

 

Spike followed their movement, raising his scarred eyebrow. "Fuzzy fish slippers, eh? I've never seen a pair of those before." He turned back to the iron, scraping waffle guts out of it with a pair of metal tongs. 

 

Buffy pointed at her pants. "They match my yummy sushi pajamas."

 

"Do you own anything that doesn't come in a matching ensemble?" Spike met with triumph, peeling the last of the waffle out of the iron ridges. This time he reached for the can of aeresol cooking spray. 

 

"Actually, I just like to have coordinating footwear- WHOA!" Buffy dove off the counter as a ball of flame billowed off the iron. She yanked Spike back and paused for a second. When she saw that the fire was gone as quickly as it started, she snarled at her husband. "You dumbass! Even I know better than to spray aerosol-propelled oil onto a red-hot iron surface! You could have burned the whole kitchen down! I thought you knew how to cook!" 

 

Spike looked decidedly pale. He swallowed hard. "I... I've never made waffles before."

 

Buffy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Luckily, she was saved from having to make that decision by Giles stumbling into the kitchen. He, too, was in a robe, his hair in disarray and his glasses askew on his face. 

 

"What happened? I heard yelling... Is something wrong?" He looked blearily around the kitchen, trying to see what was going on. 

 

His daughter sighed heavily. "Merry Christmas, Daddy." 

 

"Merry Christmas, Pumpkin..." Giles looked around the kitchen, slightly bewildered. "Oh! Waffles!" 

 

Husband and wife groaned. 

 

**********

 

 

An hour or so later, Giles accepted a steaming mug of spiced tea from Buffy, as he sat in his overstuffed recliner. As Spike started up a CD of instrumental Christmas music, Buffy slipped back into the kitchen. 

 

The two men smiled at each other.

 

"Bit of an odd Christmas, isn't it." Spike flicked the switch for the tree lights, and the multi-colored bulbs sprang to life. 

 

Giles sipped his tea. "By which, I assume you mean, being in our house? Or being married at Christmas?"

 

Spike shrugged slightly, and flopped down on the couch. "A little of both. But part of it, too, is-" His thought was interrupted by a mug entering his field of vision. 

 

"Here you go, Spike. I even put little marshmallows in it... I know it's not the same recipe, but..." Buffy's cheeks started to pink. 

 

Spike just stared at the ceramic mug, filled to the rim with hot cocoa, the marshmallows expanding to nearly overflow the top. Carefully, so as not to spill, he reached up and took it from her. When he tried to speak, his throat closed and his vision clouded with tears. He unconsciously started to curl up, pulling his legs onto the couch beside him and cradling the mug to his chest. Blue eyes shut tight, leaking from the corners. Spike licked his lips, then raised the mug and breathed deeply. He took a tiny sip, scorching his tongue, just like always. Looking down at the mug, then over to his father-in-law, and finally, at his wife, Spike was finally able to speak. 

 

"I just miss her so bloody much." 

 

Buffy slipped onto the couch next to him, her brow furrowed in sympathy and concern. Wordlessly, she put a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling tears prick at her own eyes.

 

Spike's face crumpled, an inhuman sound emitting from his throat. He turned into Buffy's shoulder, clutching the mug tightly against him once more. His breath became a sob. "I just miss her..." 

 

"Oh, sweetie..." Buffy pulled him closer to her, heedless of the cocoa sloshing over onto her new robe. Memories of her own first Christmas without a mother crept up in her mind, and she started to chew her lower lip. Her expression was one of remembered pain.

 

Some time later, the strains of orchestral music penetrated Spike's consciousness. He was aware of Buffy's arms around him, of the cooled beverage sloshed on both of them, and of Giles' supportive presence across the room. Looking up with red-rimmed eyes, he smiled weakly. 

 

"Sorry 'bout that... didn't mean to start Christmas out on such a depressing note." When Buffy smiled back at him, he realized that her own cheeks were tearstained as well. "... pet? Are you alright?" 

 

She made a small sound of protest and scrubbed at her eyes with a free hand. Shaking herself out of her daze, she still didn't answer.

 

"I think the question is, are _you_ going to be alright, son?" Giles leaned forward in his chair, his sympathetic gaze directed at Spike. 

 

"I don't know, Rupes. Some days I am, and then sometimes..." he trailed off, lacking the words to express what he was feeling. 

 

"Sometimes," Buffy picked up quietly, looking straight at him, "it hits you like a ton of bricks, and you can't breathe. She's gone, and it hurts, and it doesn't ever stop hurting. And sometimes, it's not so bad, but then when it is, you feel guilty for not having hurt more before." 

 

Spike's lip quivered dangerously, and he was forced to break eye contact lest he lose his tightly held control. "She's gone." Pulling away from Buffy's embrace, he stood slowly and took a few steps towards the bathroom. "Think I want to wash up." 

 

As Buffy silently watched his retreating form, her mind spun itself in circles. _Mom, Joyce... I miss you two so much. What do I do? What can I say?_ She vividly remembered every holiday since her own mother's death - the sadness, the pain, the feeling that something was missing. Every Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, birthday and hell, even Arbor Day was a day that she missed her mom. And, at the same time, she was torn up over Spike's desolation. He and Joyce had been on their own, just the two of them, for so many years... she couldn't imagine what he must be feeling. At least she still had her father. Hank Summers... well, no one knew where he was. Still half-lost in her introspection, Buffy nevertheless turned towards Giles. 

 

"Dad?" 

 

"Yes, dear?" Giles started to polish his lenses in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. 

 

"You know that I love you, right?" Almost pleadingly, she held a hand out towards him. 

 

The older man clasped his daughter's hand, and rose to pull her into a tight hug. "I know, Pumpkin. I love you, too." 

 

********

Spike emerged from the bathroom to hear high-pitched voices coming from the living room. Curious, he walked towards the sound. The sight that greeted his eyes made him blink. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. A second look only confirmed his first impression. _What the hell kind of drugs am I on? Or is HE on?_

 

Rupert Giles, dignified Scarsdale native and research librarian, a sober, intellectual being, was on his knees. In a jaunty Santa hat. Lip-synching to the Chipmunk's Christmas record that had replaced the symphonic carols. Buffy was half-sprawled over the couch, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.

 

The corner of Spike's mouth quirked. He watched the scene play a little bit longer, standing unnoticed in the doorway. Giles' theatrics kept getting more and more extreme as the song played. 

 

Buffy was laughing so hard that she was in physical pain. She could hardly breathe, her ribs ached, and she had no idea what had possessed her dad to break into this bizarre behavior. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, she saw a flurry of movement from the corner of her eye.

 

Spike burst into the living room, flinging his arms wide. "ME, I WANT A HULA-HOOP!" He quickly dropped down next to Giles to finish the verse. 

 

"Weeee can't haaaardly staaaand the wait, please Chriiiistmas, don't be laaaaate...." The two men squeaked in falsetto, swaying to the beat. They watched in fascination as Buffy's face turned the bright shade of purple-red that usually precedes an epileptic seizure. Spike and Giles shared a proud grin as she once more burst into peals of laughter.

 

"So, do we get our prezzies now?" Spike begged her, still speaking in his Chipmunk voice. 

 

"Oh god!" Buffy gasped. "Just shut up!" 

 

He pouted, voice dropping to its proper octave. "Presents now?" 

 

Buffy looked over to Giles, who beamed and nodded. She dove for the tree, nestling herself practically under the branches, and declaring herself the elf. "I pass!" 

 

Spike laughed. "Who goes first?" 

 

Buffy pushed a wrapped package towards her father. "Age before beauty." She batted her eyelashes.

 

Giles rolled his eyes, but accepted that he would begin. Taking the gift, he broke the tape and let the festive green paper fall to the floor. "To Rupes," he read belatedly from the tag. Giles' hand stroked over the smooth finish of the wooden box revealed. A dark brass latch was on the front. Carefully, the librarian lifted the catch, raising the lid to reveal its contents. His eyes widened. 

 

"What is it?" Buffy leaned forward eagerly. 

 

"It's an amulet. Bronze. A representation of the Sumerian god Utu." He looked up at his daughter. "You remember, I did some work on it this past summer..." 

 

Buffy tilted her head. "Oh, that's right. Cool." 

 

"Yeah, mate. It's a replica of a replica. The original's a third century BCE priest's talisman. Would've gotten a generation up, but I didn't quite have the change for it. 'least this one's sixteenth century." 

 

Giles blinked as the price range involved registered in his mind. "This is... I couldn't possibly accept..."

 

"It's not like it's one of a kind... My mum used her contacts to get it back in August, when you were so gung-ho about it." Spike swallowed, squarely meeting Giles' gaze. "I want you to have it." 

 

Rupert nodded. "Thank you." 

 

Buffy smiled. "Well, thanks to Mr. 'Steal-My-Thunder', what I've got is not so nifty, but here you go." She set her gift down on her father's lap. "Merry Christmas, Daddy." 

 

"Thank you, dear." The wrapping was carefully stripped away to expose a black-bound volume. Gold embossed lettering across the cover declared it to be _Writings on the Sumerian Pantheon by Rupert Giles_. 

 

"All those essays you wrote about Utu, aka Shamash," Buffy grinned, "while you were doing your legitimate research for the firm? I had Olivia edit them for me, and had them bound for you. So now you can say you are a published scholar." She beamed. 

 

Spike stared at her. "You actually remember who those gods are?" 

 

Buffy whacked him. "I'll have you know that I actually read all of Dad's book. And I understood, oh, about half of it." She grinned at Giles. 

 

"I don't know how to thank you... This is most surprising." The researcher was still running his hands over the leather binding. 

 

"That means it's my turn, no?" Spike broke in. 

 

Buffy nodded. "Yup, since I'm definitely prettier than you are." 

 

Spike stuck his tongue out at her, and reached for a gift bag that had his name on it. His wife slapped his hand, then passed it over. Yanking the tissue paper out, his eyes widened in delight. "The Collected Works of the Sex Pistols! A six CD set! Rupes, you've got great taste." 

 

Giles leaned back in his chair, still holding his book. "Well, I've noticed that your records are starting to skip. It won't be too long before you've worn the grooves right off. I thought you might want to join the twenty-first century."

 

Both men looked suspiciously over at Buffy, who was stricken with a sudden coughing fit. Interspersed with hacking noises were sounds that could have been, "Pot... Kettle... BLACK!" 

 

Spike rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. "Just fork over the gifts, Goldilocks, and save the commentary for someone who thinks you're funny." 

 

Eyes twinkling, she tossed him another bag. He upended the contents onto the floor. "Linkin Park? Puddle of Mudd? Inzomniak? Pocket Lint? What's this, pet?" Spike stared down at the CDs. 

 

"Speaking of joining the twenty-first century, I think it's time that you broadened your musical tastes. I got you two national groups and two indies. Listen. Appreciate. Alternate with the Sex Pistols before I'm forced to strangle you." Buffy smiled sweetly at him. 

 

He laughed. "Well, thanks then, pet. I'll try to avoid criticizing them."

 

"That's all I ask... There's still a bunch of gifts left. Are they all for me?" Buffy's eyes lit up hopefully. 

 

Spike and his father-in-law exchanged sheepish glances. "Yeah," the Brit drawled. "Guess it's in our nature t' spoil you." 

 

Buffy beamed, tearing immediately into the first present. "Oh, awesome! I was running out of this..." she held up a set of coconut-scented bath products. Lotion, shampoo, body wash, conditioner, essential oil and a new loofah were all in the basket from the local herbal shop. She immediately unscrewed a cap, breathing deep. Her eyelids fluttered closed. "I love coconut," she sighed. "Thanks, Dad!" 

 

"You're welcome, dear." 

 

Buffy tore into the next package, and squealed. "Demon Hunter Yohko! I love that show!" She clutched the DVD set triumphantly. 

 

Spike leaned over, a quizzical expression on his face. "Is that in Japanese?" 

 

"It's anime, you dweeb. It's got subtitles. _Mamono Hunter - Yohko!_ " she pronounced, faking a heavy Japanese accent.

 

"And you say _I'm_ a dweeb?" he mumbled under his breath. For the umpteenth time that morning, Spike got whacked. 

 

Giles laughed.

 

"Oh, just open the rest, will you?" Spike grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. 

 

Still blessed with a smile that wouldn't quit, Buffy pulled a shirt box towards her. _Heh, I wonder what Spike got for me. It'd better not be a Rob Zombie shirt, or something stupid like that. Ooh. Maybe he got me something sharp and dangerous!_ Impatiently, she ripped the top from the box, snapping the ribbon. Her mouth formed a round 'o' as she stared inside. Carefully, she reached in and held up the beautiful black [dress](http://www.geocities.com/spikedroolygirl/fics/extras/gcdress.html). It had one shoulder strap and a diagonal hemline, running parallel to the neckline. Starting at the top of the strap, delicate red embroidered roses wrapped around the waist and body to end at the longest tip of the hem. Generous beaded fringe covered the bottom of the dress, which barely touched the top of her knee. 

 

"It's... it's..."

 

"Open the next one, pet," Spike urged, smirking broadly at her reaction. 

 

The deep rectangular box she reached for next contained a pair of black platform sandals. They had a five-inch heel, and beaded fringe along the ankle strap, which matched the hem of the dress. Buffy gaped, speechless. 

 

"There's more, go on." Her husband was enjoying this immensely, and he coaxed her into unwrapping a small case. A set of jewelry - bracelet, necklace, and earrings. All were made of the same black beads as the fringe. 

 

Buffy just looked at Spike, unable to speak. 

 

He grinned. "If I'm going to be taking Latin Dancing, I'm going to sodding well have the sexiest partner, now, aren't I?" The Brit glanced over at Giles. "I was planning on getting her a new set of fighting knives, but then I thought, 'more frilly, less kill-y'. Seems to have been the right choice." 

 

Buffy finally managed to form words. "You were going to get me knives?" For some reason, this got her all choked up. 

 

Spike ducked his head. "Oh, alright. Here." He pulled a hidden box from under the couch. "Couldn't resist it, now could I?" 

 

The final gift was a small dagger. It was simple, with a straight, smooth blade and a polished wooden handle. Its leather sheath was the perfect size for fitting into a boot, and it was decorative enough to hang on a wall. 

 

Buffy flung herself at Spike, hugging him fiercely. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you..." 

 

He laughed. "You're welcome." 

 

Taking a hint, she released her choke hold. "God, you know me so well." 

 

Spike snorted. "We've been best friends for what, five years? I should bloody well _hope_ I know you. Merry Christmas, pet." He turned back to Giles. " 's it time to eat yet? I'm hungry." 

 

"Shouldn't you be saying something insufferably British, like 'peckish'?" Giles inquired. 

 

"Shouldn't stuffy librarians think twice before accusing people of being insufferable?" Spike shot back, standing up. "C'mon now, Rupes. What's for lunch?" 

 

"If you hadn't set the kitchen on fire, we would've had a honey baked ham. As it stands, it's either pizza, Chinese, or frozen dinners."

 

"Oy! I did not set the kitchen on fire!" 

 

Buffy tuned out the voices as she watched the two men in her life exit the living room. Her hand was stroking the soft fabric of the black dress, almost of its own volition. _God, he knows me..._ she thought, as her eyes wandered over Spike's retreating back. _God, I love that man._ She smiled, closing her hand around the material. Buffy blinked, as her thought registered in her conscious mind. _I... love him. I love Spike. I'm in love with Spike._

 

Buffy pulled her legs under her, hugging the dress to her chest. _When did my life get so complicated?_

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

"Alright, _mis mu�equitos_ , time for me to lay down the law!" Professor Brice�o clapped her hands as she eyed the group of slightly uncomfortable college students. The petite, brunette dance teacher placed her hands firmly on her hips. "Now, I am fully aware that about half of you men are only here because your girlfriends dragged you here by the short-hairs. That doesn't matter. You will still learn to dance." Her eyes twinkled, taking any sting out of her words. "Dress code! I don't care if you wear jeans, shorts, or kilts, just as long as you can move comfortably. That goes for the girls as well. We're all going to be moving freely. The important thing for you to remember is shoes. If you show up with sneakers, I will throw you out myself. And quite possibly have you beaten. Wear boots, or dress shoes, or heels. They must have a smooth surface on the bottom, because-" Professor Brice�o did a little salsa combination as she continued, "your feet must be able to slide. And you are not leaving rubber streaks on my good wood floors. _�Comprenden?_ " 

 

There was a general murmur of assent. 

 

"Call me Yolanda. Any questions?" 

 

Buffy spoke up. "What is the syllabus? Or the plan for the class?" 

 

"Ah! Well, _m'hija_ , your grade is based on attendance, participation, and a final." Her impish grin grew. "The final is a partner dance performance in front of the class and anyone who want to come. Kind of a recital." 

 

"Kind of like 'Dirty Dancing'?" a girl piped in. 

 

Yolanda laughed. "Something like that. But I don't expect anyone here do be doing lifts and stage dives." 

 

The rest of the class period was spent dividing the group into partners. By choice, Buffy and Spike wound up togther. _Frankly,_ Spike thought, _I would be out of here in ten seconds flat if they tried to put me with one of the other chits. Annoying pieces of work, they are._

 

Buffy was grinning hugely, she couldn't keep still. Even though the background music was playing very quietly, she could still feel the pulsing beat. Her hips twitched to the rhythm, and she was swaying very slightly. 

 

Spike smirked slightly, watching her. She was all a-twitch. His resentment at being made to dance softened. Buffy was obviously going to have so much fun with this class. _And nothing sucks the fun out of a room faster'n a bad attitude._ Spike blinked. That thought... was such a 'mom'-ism. _Dear Lord, I'm getting old,_

 

**********

 

 

Spike was just towelling himself dry when he heard the doorbell ring. Wrapping the material around himself, he stuck his head out of the bathroom. "Buffy?" 

 

There was no response. 

 

"BUFFY?" He called, louder this time. 

 

No reaction. Muttering to himself all the way, he hitched the towel higher on his hips, and trudged downstairs to see who it was. _If it's Red, I'll give her a bloody eyeful. And if Rupes has lost his keys again, I'll never live this down._ Swinging the front door open, Spike blinked. 

 

Lindsay McDonald tilted his head to the side, taking in Spike's fresh-from-the-shower appearance. "I take it I'm overdressed?"

 

Refusing to duck behind the door like a bashful schoolboy, the Brit just stared at the lawyer. "What do you want?"

 

Lindsay twitched his suitjacket so it rested more comfortably. "As the primary legal representative of all government offices in the Sunnydale area, I'm here to assess the validity of your citizenship claim."

 

"What's to assess? I got married." 

 

"Ah, but is it under false pretenses? You must agree, it was a rather hurried ceremony." The lawyer smiled politely. "May I come in?"

 

Grudgingly, Spike stepped aside to allow him in the house. He followed him towards the living room, where the two men stood in awkward silence. 

 

"Hey, Spike, who is it? I thought I heard the doorbell-" Buffy cut off as she came in from the back porch, sunglasses perched atop her head. She furrowed her brow at the strange man in her house. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" Looking over at Spike, she blushed faintly, realizing the implications of her words. Her husband, standing nearly naked, with a man she'd never met. _But get a load of all that skin..._ She grinned to herself. 

 

Lindsay raised an eyebrow. _She's blushing because her husband of several months is in a towel?_ His suspicions were suddenly becoming more solid. "Lindsay McDonald. I'm legal representation for the local branch of the Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization Services. You must be Buffy."

 

She immediately put on her most charming demeanor. "Yes, I am. What brings you to our home? And can I get you something to drink? I'm sure Spike wants to go and make himself more presentable, isn't that right, honey?" Buffy smiled sweetly. 

 

"Right at that, love," Spike murmured, giving Lindsay one last look before heading to the stairs. "Be right back." 

 

Lindsay nodded, then turned his attention back to the bubby blonde. "Well, there have been some questions raised about the motivation behind your recent marriage. May I offer my congratulations? And I'd love some ice water, if you don't mind." His face split into his own charming smile. 

 

"Oh, okay. Just a second," Buffy went to the kitchen, opening the fridge. Her heart was pounding, but she forced herself to stay calm. Perky. Homemaker-like. _I can't lose him, not now..._

 

Re-entering the room, she set down two glasses, and gave the lawyer a puzzled look. "What does your office want to know? I don't quite understand what the issue is."

 

"I've been assigned to make periodic visits because your hasty marriage is mildly suspicious." 

 

"Yes, you've said. I just don't understand what's so suspicious." Buffy's expression and tone were carefully upbeat.

 

"Well, I gave him a notice of deportation. Within six weeks, a previously unattached man is married? Some have wondered if he paid you to marry him, or something of the like. I know how much he values that green card." Lindsay was also the epitome of politeness. 

 

At this point, Spike came back downstairs, dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt. He sprawled down on the couch next to his wife and looked over at the lawyer. "So, what can I do for you?"

 

Buffy patted his knee absentmindedly, still looking at Lindsay. "Oh, that! See, we've been good friends for a long time." She leaned back in her seat, brushing shoulders with her husband. "Friendship is always a great place to start a relationship, don't you think, Mr. McDonald?" 

 

"I wouldn't know. And please, call me Lindsay." He eyed the couple. The body language was casual and familiar, but something about it was off. 

 

"Alright, Lindsay. Well," Buffy continued, looking back at Spike with a small grin, "what can I say? I fell in love with my best friend." She marveled at how easily those words slipped off her tongue. 

 

Spike leaned forward to touch his forehead against hers. After fleeting contact, he looked up at the lawyer. "We'd talked about getting married, someday... When the letter came, we just decided to go for it." _God, I had no idea Buffy was such a good actress. I almost believe her._

 

Lindsay nodded slowly. "Sounds good." He was quiet for a moment. "This is a nice house - would you mind giving me the tour? I hate to impose, but I was thinking of moving out of my condo..." 

 

Buffy smiled brightly, standing up. She didn't believe him, she was sure he knew that she didn't believe him, but pretence was maintained all around. "It's not a problem at all. We can start in the kitchen, so I can put these glasses in the sink," she laughed, gathering the emptied cups. 

 

The first floor garnered very little reaction from Lindsay. When they reached the upstairs, however, he had one very important question. "Why do you have separate bedrooms? And bathrooms?" He quirked a brow. _Oh, there's a hole in their story big enough for me to drive my truck through._

 

"Well... I mean, it's still my dad's house," Buffy blushed. "I may be married, but he has certain... opinions on his baby girl being all grown-up." _Yikes, where did I get THAT one from? At least it's semi-believable..._

 

Spike chuckled quietly. "Yeah. We're saving up to try to get our own place, but funds are kind of tight." He cocked his head, eyeing Lindsay. "You would know."

 

The lawyer just smiled.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

_February 14, 2003_

 

Loud, Latin rhythms pulsed through Buffy's skin, crawling over her clothing and seeping through into her blood. A sheen of perspiration coated her forehead, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the way her hips moved, back and forth, side to side, a little swish- her foot kicked out to the side, and then she completed the move by tucking her knee and planting her shoe back firmly on the ground. Spike's hands were on her waist, her arms around his neck, and they moved together as if they'd been born dancing. 

 

It had only taken a month of classes to make them move this easily. 

 

 _"En la disco, yo me la encontre - me miraba, dijo, le acerque. Yo le dije, << �Vamos a bailar! >> Y a la pista, me la fui a llevar..."_

 

He pulled her flush against his body, and they began a series of turns across the floor.

 

_"Nu-nu, yeah, yeah..."_

 

The inane lyric repeated half a dozen times, but Buffy barely heard it. She was surrendered to the music, feeling the beat, feeling the way it made her blood pulse and sing. The way that Spike's touch set her on fire when they moved this way. Spins, dips, turns, kicks - he guided and controlled her dancing. It was primal. It was provocative. It made her want him so badly she ached all over. 

 

_"Oh, �Para! I can't get you out of my mind..."_

 

**********

 

 

Buffy stared down at her textbook, not understanding a word of the print. She didn't even see it, really. All that she saw were blue eyes, high cheekbones, and messy white-blonde hair. She saw lips curving into a pleased smirk. Her eardrums still reverberated from the music. 

 

When had she fallen so hard? Why was this happening to her?

 

Spike. It was strange how he'd crept into her life. Slow but sudden, if that made any sense. Slow, in the gradual closeness that had developed over years, over heartaches and heart-breaks. Slow, in that they'd been friends for five years, and kissed but once. And then suddenly, she'd woken up to realize that his smile and his happiness meant more to her than just about any other thing in the world. 

 

It just wasn't fair, even though it made more sense than anything else ever did. She was crazy about her best friend. Buffy was in love with her husband. It sounded so simple, so natural, but... it was her curse to live a complicated love life. 

 

_I am never allowed to be happy..._

 

Buffy looked around the classroom, suddenly depressed by all the people wearing red and pink. The annoying couple in the row ahead of her was playing footsie again. She grimaced. _Another Valentine's Day to spend alone on the couch with my two second-favorite men: Ben and Jerry._

 

When class ended, Buffy grimaced. _Another lecture completely missed by my spacing out. Dammit._ Popping her neck, she stood and gathered her books, heading out of the classroom. _Hot fudge. I need hot fudge._

 

The evening found Buffy in a soft robe, curled up on the couch with a half-gallon of "Everything but the..." She sighed, turning the tub to read the label. "Chocolate & Vanilla Ice Creams with HEATH� Bar Chunks, White Chocolatey Chunks, Peanut Butter Cups & Chocolatey-Covered Almonds!" 

 

 _So why don't I feel better?_

 

Buffy grabbed the remote in her free hand, and flipped on the television. Channels flickered across the screen, until she settled on something loud and guy-like, with lots of automatic weapons and explosive devices. "Ah," she murmured aloud. "The anti-chick flick." 

 

"What was that, love?" Spike came into the living room, scratching his belly. With a yawn, he ran a hand through his hair. 

 

"Nothing," Buffy replied. Since his attention was caught by the spray of machine gun bullets mowing though bodies in a gruesome bloodbath, she felt free to examine him. Tousled, ungelled hair and smooth, ivory skin. No shirt, just a pair of sweatpants slung low enough on his hips to make her swallow hard. Sexy bare feet. Glasses perched on his nose, reflecting the light from the T.V. _He's so beautiful like this._

 

She felt an ache in her chest, and desperately needed to break this silence. "Studying or sleeping?" she managed. 

 

"Hmm? Oh, studying. Was catching up on my readings for American Poetry. You know how much I like Professor Kensington, but he's a complete slave driver." Spike stretched, popping his neck and back with a sigh of relief. Then he snorted. 

 

"What's so funny?" 

 

"Nothing... well, something that Andrew was saying today in class, about slavery and what not... It's not that funny, out of context." Spike smiled again, shaking his head at his classmate's antics. 

 

"Did you get the reading done?" Buffy shoveled another bite of ice cream into her mouth, trying to stave off the drool reflex at how his muscles moved under his skin. _Bad brain! Shut up!_

 

"What? Yeah, I did." Spike came around the side of couch and sat down next to her. He leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and tossing an arm across the back of the sofa. Buffy took advantage of this, twisting to curl up against his chest. She dipped her spoon back into the ice cream tub. "Mm, thanks." Spike took the spoon away from her and popped it into his mouth. 

 

Hazel eyes widened, fixated on the way his cheeks sucked in as he swallowed. A tiny dribble of fudge trickled down the corner of Spike's mouth and his tongue swept out to catch it. Still watching the T.V., he started licking the spoon clean, long sweeps lapping away all of the chocolaty residue. 

 

Something chose that instant to rise up inside of her, breaking through all of her inhibitions. Something inside of her snapped. Buffy couldn't take any more. She grabbed the spoon away from him, and then nestled closer.

 

Spike glanced down at her, confused. "Is something wrong, pet?" 

 

"Don't you ever feel it?" she murmured, reaching up to lace her fingers through his. 

 

"Feel what?" Spike's brow furrowed in concern. _What's going on? Is she ok?_

 

"Lonely," she whispered. Ice cream was set down to melt on the table. Buffy cupped his hand with both of her own. "You're close enough to touch, Spike. Close enough to hold. I don't understand it." She stroked down his hand, caressing his forearm. 

 

Spike met her gaze, shaking his head slightly. "Look, Buffy. I don't know what you want from me, but-" 

 

"Shh." She placed a finger to his lips, eyes sad and pleading. _Just once, that's all I want... Lie to me. That's all I need, just once, God..._ "Can't we pretend, Spike? Can't we make believe that you love me, that you want me, that what we have is a real marriage? Can't I fall asleep in your arms and wake up with you holding me?" Tears were welling up as she spoke. "Can't we-" her voice cracked. Buffy wet her lips and tried again. "Can't we be happy, be not alone, just for tonight? Please," her bottom lip quivered, and salty moisture spilled down her cheek. 

 

"Buffy," Spike rasped, his voice hoarse. "You don't know what you're asking. This isn't right." 

 

"Isn't it? Isn't it right for me to want my husband? For me to want to hold you, and touch you, and make you feel?" 

 

"You don't want this, love. It's not supposed to be like this." Spike was having trouble being firm. He hated to see her so miserable, but he knew that what she was asking for would only bring them grief. 

 

"How do you know that, Spike? How? How do you know that I don't want you? Because I do. I want you. I want to be with you, and I want to make love to you, and I want to hear you scream when you come." Buffy's voice was low and intense, but the tears never ceased their slow path downwards. 

 

Spike pulled his arm away from her, standing. "Dammit, Buffy, I've told you before. We can't be like that. I won't do it." Frustrated, he tugged at his hair. Her words were stirring up emotions he couldn't identify, things he couldn't acknowledge. "I won't," he repeated. Whether to himself or to his wife, he didn't know. 

 

Buffy's face crumpled. "Why don't you want me? Am I not good enough?" 

 

Spike stared in astonishment and the young woman weeping on the couch. Something in his chest twisted, but was quickly replaced with growing anger. "Why is it always about you, Buffy?" he snapped, knowing as soon as he said it that this would be a conversation he'd regret until the day he died. But he just couldn't stop himself. "Is this what you want from me, sex in return for citizenship? Newsflash, Goldilocks. I'm not your fucktoy, and I'm not your whore. If a shagging is worth our friendship to you, I don't think it was worth very much to begin with." Spike was pacing at this point, jaw clenched and fists formed. 

 

Buffy turned white. "Oh, god, please, Spike, no. I didn't mean- I'm sorry, I shouldn't've-" She began to cry in earnest; sobs shaking her body as the stress of the past weeks came crashing down. _What have I done? What did I say? I can't lose him, not like this. I'm not.. I'm not ready for him not to be in my life..._

 

Spike's pacing slowed, her genuine distress penetrating the fog of frustration that surrounded him. "Buffy-" 

 

"No, you're right," she sniffled. "You're right. I don't know why, but I shouldn't... I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. It's just..." Buffy scrubbed a hand over her face, violently dashing tears away. "I'm just so tired, Spike. Tired of feeling alone, tired of being by myself... I'm tired of this whole thing. Tired of another special occasion coming and going without feeling..." She paused to search for the right word. "Connected." 

 

Spike gazed evenly at his wife. Her knees pulled up to her chest, Buffy looked more vulnerable in that moment than he'd ever seen her before. He wasn't sure what to do, what to say, but he felt that this moment would either make or break their friendship - in a permanent way. 

 

"Plus," Buffy continued, looking away as she chuckled self-deprecatingly. "It's been a while. A long while." She shook her head, trying to do anything to breach this wall of uncomfortable strangeness that had sprung up between them. 

 

Spike almost laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he replied, his posture relaxing as he returned to the couch. He avoided her gaze as he sat back down. For a long moment, he just stared at the television. Explosions seemed so much more real in this instant. Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair and faced his wife. 

 

"Buffy, pet. We need to talk." 

 

___________________________________________________________________________

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

Spike sighed, unsure of where to begin. 

 

Buffy shifted slightly, pulling her robe more snugly around her body and looking at him expectantly. 

 

"I suppose it all goes back to Drusilla. I mean, it started before that, but this is where the story starts to make sense." He snorted. "And now I'm not making much sense, am I?" 

 

She smiled slightly, but remained silent. 

 

"Alright. Well, I once told you to ask why Dru and I ever got together. Thing is, she's had a rough life. Some... experiences, with the male half of her family 've left her pretty much terrified of men. And the things they do... with women." Spike's jaw clenched. _How could someone do that to their own daughter, their own sister..._ Even after so many years, there would always be a soft spot in his heart for the wild-eyed brunette. 

 

"I don't know what it was," he continued, "but she had me figured out." Spike looked up at Buffy, a wry smile on his lips. "She wanted to be a normal girl when she came to Sunnydale, with a boyfriend and dating and all that other stuff. She chose me, because..." He trailed off, examining his fingernails. There was a moment where no one spoke, and then he resumed his monologue."Some days, it was like she could read my bloody mind. Thing is, Dru knew that she never had to be afraid with me. That I'd never touch her or hurt her." Spike swallowed hard, remembering what is was like to shelter and protect Drusilla. _She always needed me so much..._

 

Buffy's brow furrowed. "I'm still a little unclear on what you're trying to tell me." 

 

He met her eyes with a clear, even gaze. "Drusilla was afraid of sex for a very long time. With me, she knew she didn't have to worry about it. That I wouldn't."

 

Buffy's eyes widened in comprehension. "You mean you're...?"

 

Spike blushed slightly and looked away. "Yeah, pet. I am."

 

"I... I can't believe you never told me." She was torn between bewilderment and anger, winding up just feeling flustered.

 

"Well, pet, I never really knew how. Besides, it's not like it's anyone's business but mine." He was fidgeting uncomfortably at this point.

 

"But- but what about all those girls you've dated?" 

 

"All those girls? Please, Buffy. Since Dru left, I've dated what, three girls? Four? And it never lasted. I didn't want them to get the wrong idea about me." Spike's expression was genuine as he looked back over to his wife. 

 

A throw pillow came down violently on his head.

 

"I can't believe you never told me you were gay!" Buffy screeched, hitting him again. "You let me-" WHAP! "-make a-" WHAP! "-complete-" WHAP! "-IDIOT out of myself!" She hit him again, for good measure. 

 

Spike had fallen to the floor, his arms raised defensively. "What? NO! I am not gay! Buffy!" He reached up, wresting the pillow away. "I am NOT gay!" he reiterated, flushing a deep red. 

 

"Oh, right. 'She never had to be afraid with me'... 'don't want them to get the wrong impression' ... 'oh, and Andrew is such a great guy'..." Buffy mimicked terribly. "You are gay! You are a fudge-packing, pillow-biting, cake-eating friend of Dorothy! How could I have not seen it before!" she wailed, feeling utterly humiliated as she slumped back on the couch. 

 

Spike was dumbfounded. Then he turned purple. "I am NOT gay, you stupid bint, I am a VIRGIN," he burst out.

 

Silence so profound it was almost painful descended on the living room. 

 

"What?" Buffy finally asked, incredulously.

 

"I'm a virgin. A virgin. I've never had sex before, all right? Are you happy now?" Spike dragged himself up off the floor and dusted his sweatpants. Straightening his glasses, he perched on the end of the couch farthest from his wife. "Are you going to hit me some more?" 

 

She still stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted fangs or horns. "But... why?" she managed. 

 

He shrugged. "Do you really want to know, or are you just wondering if I've gone crazy?" 

 

Buffy held up her hand, and then noiselessly slipped off the couch. She went into the kitchen and returned momentarily with two bottles of Guinness. Using the edge of the table to pop off the lids, she then held one out to Spike. She sat back down and took a pull at her bottle. "Tell me." 

 

"My father is a bastard." Spike turned the beer in his hand, then took a drink. 

 

Buffy was taken aback by the apparent change in subject. 

 

"Henry Summers did exactly two things for me in my life. He gave me half of my DNA, and he taught me that sex is one of the most special things that can happen between two people." 

 

"What? I thought the reason your parents divorced was because he was cheating on Joyce." Buffy was confused. 

 

Spike nodded bitterly. "Yeah, he did. I don't even know how many times he slept with other women, and Mom just forgave him and took him back. And the whole time, she never returned the insult. The whole point of monogamy and being faithful in a marriage, is that sex is special. You don't sleep with people that aren't your spouse." 

 

"Okay..." She obviously wasn't quite seeing the point. 

 

"What makes it so special to reserve sex for your wife, if you've been shagging other chits before you married her? Why does being married all of a sudden put a stop sign on your dangly bits?" 

 

Something akin to understanding was starting to simmer in Buffy's brain. 

 

"It doesn't." Spike shrugged. "If shaggin's supposed to be so special after getting married, stands to reason it's special before. That's why I've never. And that's why I won't sleep with you, pet." 

 

Setting her now-empty bottle down on the table, Buffy scooted over to sit next to him. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I think I understand where you're coming from." 

 

He smiled, putting his arm around her shoulder and dropping a kiss on her temple. "Thanks, pet. So, you want to watch another movie?" 

 

"Yeah," she sighed. "Something gruesome. With lots of blood." 

 

He chuckled. "That's my girl." 

 

*********

 

 

Hours later, the flickering of the television was the only light in the darkened room. Buffy's lips curved in a smile as she felt the comfortable weight of Spike's body against her own. His head rested against her neck as he breathed deeply in sleep. 

 

 _I can't believe he never told me before... and yet, I understand completely._ She blushed faintly. _No wonder he turned me down both times... he doesn't consider this a real marriage. And it's not, not a heart marriage, the way it should be._

 

Spike sighed softly, and snuggled closer to her warmth. In sleep, he looked so innocent. Not carefree, but at least content. 

 

Buffy dared to lean down, her mouth a hairsbreadth from his. At the last moment, she hesitated, and then lifted her chin to brush her lips against his forehead. Toying gently with his hair, she smiled again. The words she whispered were barely audible, her breath stirring against her husband's skin.

 

"I love you."

____________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Seventeen

 

"You pig!" 

 

Spike just snorted at Buffy's insult. "What?" he mumbled around his cupcake. He had just shoved the whole thing in his mouth, in a typically male move. 

 

"Ugh. I hope you choke on that." She rolled her eyes, fighting a laugh at how funny he looked with his cheeks pouched out and frosting smeared on his chin. 

 

"Mmmph." 

 

Buffy shook her head, adjusting her backpack strap. It was evening on campus, and the two were just heading home after learning their dance class was cancelled. Hit by a sudden Hostess craving, Spike had stopped at a vending machine.

 

He struggled to swallow and was foiled by the creamy center. Spike choked. 

 

"Tsk. You should know better. Need at least two bites for a cupcake. For a twinkie, try three." Buffy shot him a little grin. 

 

Spike would have laughed, but it would've been counterproductive. As they rounded a corner in front of the Journalism building, he caught sight of a redhead that looked vaguely familiar. There was a cluster of mixed-aged persons loitering about. The redhead that caught his eye was dressed in black leather pants and matching bodice, with dark burgundy belled sleeves underneath. She was snuggled up against a dark-haired youth in a worn leather coat, as they spoke with an older man. 

 

Nearing the group, Buffy and Spike were soon able to hear bits of the conversation.

 

The older man was sitting on a bench, while others flocked around. Obviously, he was the center of attention. Then the guy in the leather coat spoke. 

 

"The deed is done."

 

"You killed the girl that sought the Hunters?" the seated man replied.

 

The dark haired man snorted. "It was too easy," he drawled.

 

For the first time, Spike heard the redhead speak. Her voice was petulant, and, again, familiar.

 

"I felt cheap," she pouted, running a hand up her companion's back.

 

"Excellent," the man in charge replied, a cruel grin gracing his features. 

 

"So, you're pleased?" The redhead took a short step forward, her entire posture eager.

 

"Ecstatic." 

 

"Ooh..." The girl practically wiggled all over. "Then... can I play with the puppy?" When she held out her hands, the other man passed her an object. She smiled brightly, snuggling back up against the dark-haired man. "We can put him in chains and ride him like a pony," she murmured. 

 

The leather-clad duo, redhead and dark, started to drift away from the core group. At this point, Buffy and Spike were watching with a kind of rapt fascination. They'd never seen anything like this before. 

 

Suddenly, another leather-clad female stepped out of the shadows. A tank top hugged her upper curves, and she had long, flowing brown hair. "Give us a kiss," she spat, squaring off in front of the redhead. 

 

Licking her lips obscenely, she hissed in response. 

 

Then, for no apparent reason, the two women started to play rock-paper-scissors. 

 

"What the hell?" Buffy whispered to Spike. 

 

"Wait, isn't that-" he interjected. 

 

"Oh, my god-" she continued. 

 

"WILLOW?" 

 

Startled, the redhead in the skintight corset turned. "Oh, hi Buffy! Hi, Spike!" 

 

"Hey, what are you two doing here?" The brunette winked, taking a step towards them. 

 

"Faith?" Buffy asked, confused. Then she did a double-take. " _Xander_?"

 

The guy who Willow-the-lesbian had been sporadically necking with, and obviously cuddling, was none other than Xander Harris. Spike had to remember to breathe. "What is going on?" 

 

"And Will, what are you wearing?" Buffy added, regaining her composure.

 

"Oh, this is my costume. This is what we all do on Wednesdays. We play Vampire: the Masquerade." 

 

"We all? Who else is here?" Spike blinked. 

 

"Anya plays a Ventru, Oz is in the Garou game, and there's the three of us." 

 

"A what a what? Grew? Huh?" Buffy stared at these strange people who spoke in odd languages. 

 

"Garou. It's a were-wolf game that sometimes crosses over with VtM." Xander grimaced. "Guess we're going kind of fast. Basically, it's like Dungeons and Dragons, only much, MUCH less geeky." 

 

"You dress up and play pretend," Spike smirked. "Right. Nothing geeky about that." 

 

"It's cool. You guys should totally play. My character's a Hunter - that means I try to kill vampires," Faith commented. "Actually, I used to be a Hunter, but then I got Embraced by a Gangrel. So I still try to protect the humans and stuff from crazy Malkavians like her." She pointed at Willow. 

 

The redhead blushed. "My derangement is sadism!" she protested. 

 

"You're deranged, all right. What the heck did you guys say?" 

 

"So, you're a vampire, pet?" Spike addressed Faith. The brunette nodded. "And you protect people?" 

 

Again, a nod. 

 

"Why the bloody hell would you want to do that? If you're a vampire, then people are... people. Soddin' Happy Meals with legs. You don't cosset them, you eat them." He cocked his head in confusion. 

 

The brunette laughed. "You see, I have a high humanity score. See?" She pulled a folded computer print-out from her cleavage. "Humanity - Four," she pointed out. "That means that I think killing humans is bad." 

 

Spike just shook his head, and Buffy snorted. "Vampires aren't people with all these gushy feelings. They're like, demons. Have you ever seen _Nosferatu_?" she asked.

 

Willow just shrugged. "It's more of an Anne Rice concept of vampirism, you know?" 

 

"Ugh," Spike snorted. "The bint was completely insane." 

 

Buffy just stared in incomprehension. "Then why would you play this?" 

 

Xander laughed, then pointed at his outfit. "I get to wear leather. I get to be smooth, cool, and a little bit evil. Plus, I'm a Brujah. That means I'm a rabble-rousing philosopher. I get to stir up trouble and harass the prince." 

 

"Malkavians are awesome!" Willow chirrupped, immediately afterwards. "They're all crazy. No, really, it's part of what makes them vampires, that they're kind of insane. So I get to act like a total weirdo dominatrix." She grinned, blushing. 

 

"It's scary how good at it she is," Faith chuckled. 

 

"Oh, yeah. You know me, how I play 'Mistress of Pain' every night," Willow laughed. 

 

Buffy and Spike just looked at each other. "Did you just go to a scary visual place?" she asked him. 

 

"Oh, yeah." He swallowed hard, then turned back to Willow. "So what does Tara think?" 

 

"She thinks it's funny. And it gives me something to talk about. Plus, this is when she likes to work on her book. Time apart makes for healthy time together!" 

 

"Okay, I'm still trying to reconcile perky Willow and black leather. Where did you get that?" Buffy muttered. 

 

"I picked it up for her, B." Faith's grin was positively evil. "Now that you're all married and boring, you don't need to know what store it came from." 

 

Spike just quirked his scarred eyebrow, giving Willow a good look up and down. "The Chamber?" he guessed. 

 

Faith was taken aback. "How would you kn-" She stopped, then grinned. "Yeah, you would know, wouldn't you? Don't tell me little miss tightly-wound's been getting her naughty on..." 

 

Buffy fidgeted under the brunette's leer. "I... Spike and I were just leaving." 

 

"Wait!" Xander called. "You two should come next week. Spike, you'd make a killer villain... and Buff, you could be a Hunter." 

 

"Um, I'm thinking, we have class on Wednesday nights. Right, honey?" 

 

"Oh, right, pet. We've got class." Spike shrugged mock-helplessly. 

 

Willow stuck her tongue out, then turned back to Faith. Her entire demeanor changed in an instant. Gone was perkiness, replaced with sensuality. "Bored now," she purred. 

 

Buffy twitched. "Going, now." She grabbed onto Spike, and the two hustled away. "That... was the weirdest thing I have EVER seen..." She shuddered. 

 

Spike just laughed. "Me? A vampire? They're out of their sodding minds. I'd be a terrible vampire." 

 

"Yeah, and if I was a Hunter, that means I'd have to stake you! Or, whatever." 

 

When they finally reached the front door, they were still giggling over their friends' quirkiness. Opening the lock and stepping inside, Buffy flipped on the lights. 

 

"Dad? We're home!" she called. There was no answer, so she just shrugged and wandered into the kitchen. "You still hungry, Spike? I think there's sandwich stuff in here." 

 

"Shouldn't I be getting a cuppa blood?" he snickered. "Oh, and put it in Giles' 'Kiss the Librarian' mug." 

 

Buffy laughed outright. "You're right. You're a terrible vampire. I bet you can't even bite people," she teased. 

 

Spike jumped into the kitchen, his face screwed up into a teeth-baring snarl. "I'll drain you dry and leave your corpse to rot," he threatened.

 

Buffy looked around the kitchen, and came up with a rolling pin. "I'll stake you before you can blink, monster." 

 

Racing around the counter, Spike began chasing Buffy, who ran out of the room. Up and down the stairs the scampered, laughing and tossing out lame threats. 

 

"Oh, you are one step away, missy!" he growled as he leapt down the last few steps. 

 

"Aww, is the scary vampire hungry? Tormented by a look at my poor neck?" Buffy was still running, but her voice turned taunting and coquettish. "All bare and tender and exposed.. all that blood just .. pumping away... Eep!" she squealed. 

 

The bleached wonder grabbed her by the waist, tackling her down to the living room floor. "Mine!" he snarled, pulling her head to the side and biting down on her neck. 

 

 _Oh... my... god... Is this really, really sexy, or am I just a sick kinky slut?_ Buffy went limp, sudden desire washing over her. 

 

Spike pulled away, and looked down at her in concern. "Buffy, love? Are you alright?" 

 

"Um, yeah. I just... tired?" Her excuse sounded lame, even to her. 

 

Spike licked his lips, moving off her. _Huh. I've still got Buffy-taste in my mouth..._

 

"Gonna go take a shower," she mumbled hastily, and scrambled out of the living room. _Oh God, Oh God... yeah... shower. Cold._

 

Spike watched her retreating back with mild confusion. 

 

_Was it something I did?_

  
  


To Be Continued

 


End file.
